


Immune to Your Consultations

by Pinkmink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Architect Castiel (Supernatural), Chickens, Dad!Dean, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2018, Disabled Bobby Singer, Dreamhunter, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, Firefighter Dean, Jack Kline Loves Nougat, Lucifer is a dick, M/M, Shameless References to Breakfast Club, Smut, Uncle!Cas, smut involving cookie dough, teenagers are the worst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-08-30 04:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16757332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmink/pseuds/Pinkmink
Summary: Being orphans makes for strange bedfellows, but Claire and Jack consider themselves lucky to have found one another. Unfortunately, their combined brand of mischief is a thorn in the side of their adoptive parents. When they meet, there’s no chance for Castiel and Dean to find anything to admire about the other - given that they blame each other’s kid for their own’s sudden rebellious behavior. But when Jack’s biological Dad throws himself back into the picture, they find that the strongest bonds of family are sometimes the ones you pick.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just like last years DCBB, this fic was a damn _journey_. I had another fic I was working on for DCBB, and then that Wayward sisters news hit and damn, did that hurt. Like Space Mom always says, "Take your broken heart, and turn it into art." So, suddenly my DCBB needed ten times more Dreamhunter - and this fic was born. 
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful and patient artist [dmsilvisart](https://dmsilvisart.tumblr.com/)! She was an absolute pleasure to work with. Thank you also to my beta [Tricia_16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tricia_16/pseuds/tricia_16), without whom I would have tossed in the towel on this. She encourages the crap out of me on the daily.

# 

_"And these children that you spit on as they try to change their worlds,_

_are immune to your consultations._

_They're quite aware of what they're going through."_

Changes - David Bowie

 

Traffic is the bane of Dean’s existence.

His fingers tapped restlessly against the worn leather of the Impala’s steering wheel. He had the window rolled down all the way, his other hand gripped around the edge of the roof. Under his fingertips, the sun warmed metal served up just enough pain to distract from the acres of red lights spread out ahead of him. They blinked in his vision, and he pressed harder.

See, as a firefighter, Dean wasn’t used to waiting. After all, with his team and their big red truck, he could make all of these vehicles part and make it swiftly to his destination. But this was not an emergency, and though he’d at one time considered getting one of those portable sirens on the Impala in case of days like this, Sam had reminded him that it wasn’t exactly legal. And he had to admit, he did enjoy being gainfully employed.

So he sat in the San Diego sun and cooked like a regular schlub on the 8. And blamed his son. It was, after all, his damn fault that this meeting was taking place at a school and it being after school hours, it was peak traffic time. In his lap, his cell suddenly buzzed to life. Swiping across to answer it, he threw it on speaker. “What?”

“Well aren’t you pleasant?” Sam’s voice grumbled, tinny and small from his phone. “I take it you’re on your way?”

“If by ‘on my way’ you mean freaking parked on the eight, then sure.” The station wagon in front of Dean moved ahead by ten feet, and he almost cried out in relief. “I’m sure I’ll be there in time to see Jack graduate. In two years.”

“Glad to hear you’re in a reasonable mood. Try not to chew out Principal Mosley.”

Dean chuckled. “Right, like there’s any chance of that.”

“You do tend to get really defensive of your son, is all I’m saying.”

Dean pulled at his bottom lip and breathed out sharply. “He’s a good kid, Sam. He never did anything like this before he met her.”

He let the last “her” sound like he was talking about a Disney villain or something. Maybe she was. In his mind, she’s only slightly better than Cruella DeVille because as far as he knows, she hasn’t killed any animals. Well, maybe just the one animal. But she’s definitely Ursula level bad. Maybe even Scar level.

There’s some scuffling behind Sam, and suddenly he’s muffled like he’s put his hand over the phone. Despite that, Dean can hear distinct sounds of barking.

“Crap, Dean I gotta go.” Sam’s voice came in clear again. “Someone didn’t fully lock Rusty’s cage and I think he’s trying to visit Suzette.”

“Let the dog see his lady, Sam. You’re gonna cut his balls off soon. Have a heart.”

“I’m gonna cut your balls off soon if you don’t-”

“What’s that Sammy? You’re breaking up….I think I’m losing-” Dean hit end and chuckled to himself. Ahead of him, the station wagon moved another twenty feet, and then stalled. He groaned, letting his head fall against the steering wheel.

There’s a weird sense of wrong nostalgia about the hallowed halls of St John Prep. Nothing much has changed since Dean practically ran screaming from the building as soon as he was given his diploma almost twenty years ago. Metal lockers, once a faded pale blue, were refreshed in black. The same chipped linoleum was still unfixed and probably a tripping hazard at this point. Truthfully, he didn’t enjoy being here at all. His skin flushed with a sudden chill - San Diego rarely became hot enough to turn on the air conditioning, but right now the old brick building was blowing forced, frigid air with a vengeance. He rubbed his hands against his arms and stood before a familiar wooden door, his arm poised to knock.

“If you’re waiting for a formal invitation, Mr. Winchester, you’re going to be out there for a while.”

Missouri Mosley’s voice, mild with impatience, drew his reluctant steps through the doorway. “I wasn’t sure if I should knock, or?”

While much of the school looked the same, this office was vastly different than he remembered. Back when he was in school, he’d seen the inside of it plenty when it belonged to Principal Naomi. To say she kept things orderly was putting it mildly - plus, the woman was Umbridge-level scary. In hindsight, her meticulous attention to organization probably made her more crazy than anyone else, but the thing Dean remembered the most was the smell: a sharp, penetrating astringent that only seemed to get stronger the longer he was being punished for, you know, whatever. (Probably being hilarious, in his not-so humble opinion.)

Now however, it was filled with the warmth of Missouri herself. She’d always had a gentle air about her, mothering and soft. Not that she wouldn’t pull Dean by his ear if she felt he deserved it. Twenty years ago she was just “Mizz Mosley”, the english teacher that assigned them banned books, hung dream catchers against the windows, and let the students curse out loud as long as it made her laugh. Dean did both. And often.

She sat behind a small wooden desk, the surface of which was filled with trinkets but not in a way that looked cluttered. He's pretty sure there was a chicken foot amongst them. In the corner, a quiet fan rotated back and forth, pushing a welcome breeze from the open window to where he hovered in the doorway. “Sit Dean,” she said, in a tone of voice that didn’t allow for questions. “We need to talk about your son.”

“Look,” he began, sitting at one of the chairs opposite her. “You’ve known Jack since he was a baby. This kind of behavior aint him. Its her.”

“You know, you and Sam, and even that grump of an uncle you got still hanging around - you three have done a fine job with Jack. He could have turned out something hard with the life hand dealt him.” She pursed her lips. “But this time he’s gone a little too far. Someone got hurt. And I know he didn’t mean to, but that hardly matters in the end, doesn’t it?”

Dean frowned and glanced away. She was right of course. Jack had become progressively more out of control with his behavior. What had started out with ditching the occasional class (easily punishable by grounding for a weekend) was now a bit more difficult to discipline.

See, Jack always had this thing with social cues - as in, they flew way over his head. It wasn't malicious, ever. Jack is the kindest soul you'd ever meet. (Something he'd inherited from his mother, no question. Certainly not Sam or Dean.) But with the wrong influence, and an eager push, he could easily be led in a bad direction.

Enter she-who-will-not-be-named. Jack met the hellion in Beginning Calculus last semester and the two of them became inexplicably fast friends. Inexplicably because they were nothing alike - if Jack was mellow music and cumulus clouds, she was death metal and hurricanes.

Dean and Sam were happy that Jack had made a friend - Lord knows over the years, he hasn't made much of them - but she was trouble from the start. And try as they might, Jack always seemed to end up right next to her when the shit storm descended.

Which is why Dean's here now, to talk about what to do with the fact that his sixteen year old son not only ditched a mandatory class and abducted rival school Righetti High’s mascot (Regina the chicken) but was also responsible for “misplacing” her.

“He’s just a teenager, Missouri. I don’t need to tell you they all do a little boundary stretching from time to time. That’s all this is. We just need to reign it in.” He looked up again and met her eye. “And it starts with getting him away from her.”

Missouri’s eyes narrowed, and she pointed a finger at him. “Jack is his own man, Dean. Ain’t no woman ever made that young man act a fool. You should teach your son to take responsibility for his actions.” Behind him, there came a soft knock from behind the closed door. “Oh,” Missouri shifted, straightening her back. “Speaking of, I invited someone to join us today. I think it’s about time you two had a chat.” Before Dean could protest, she called out, “Come in, Mr Novak.”

Novak?!

Her dad?

The door opened slowly and through it, a mess of dark hair poked it’s way through. “If this is a bad time, I can come back…” a voice like honey over gravel mumbled.

“Not at all - come on in.”

Dean was caught in a vice. He could feel his skin start to catch fire, as he watched the man come through the door. He was already angry having to be in this damn conference to begin with when the whole thing had been her idea. But now that her dad has shown up, he’s even more angry that he seems to have been caught in some sort of “shared” responsibility parent teacher conference about their kids.

And then this asshole has the audacity to be completely fucking handsome. His profile is sharp, straight nose, full lips, jawline like glass. His hair is pulled every which way liked he'd just walked out of a windtunnel. Dean glanced at him quickly before he decided to preserve his dignity by fixating on his hand as it was extended out towards him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’m Castiel Novak.”

Dean hesitated for a moment, conflicted between brushing this asshole off (after all, it’s his damn kid that’s the reason he was stuck in traffic for a damn hour today!) and taking that hand and holding it to his face because it was lithe and beautiful and shit, Dean is hard up. He needs to get out more.

“Castiel, this is Jack’s dad, Dean Winchester,” Missouri supplied with a disappointed sigh.

In an instant, the hand was withdrawn.

“This is Jack’s dad?!” Castiel’s voice raised, sounding far less prim and proper, and much more fire and brimstone. It shocked Dean so much he finally looked up at him and blue eyes. Blue eyes. Everything in the world is blue eyes. The bluest blue eyes, like damn oceans in the middle of his head. Who has eyes that blue? An angel, that’s who. He had to be.

No, wait. An asshole. That’s right, he hates this guy.

“You must be Claire’s dad,” Dean replied with a sneer. Alright, it was a little bit of a show. This guy was so handsome it was actually disarming, and he struggled to keep his rage peaked. “Wasn’t expecting to see you, but glad I get to tell you in person what a-”

“Alright now, that’s quite enough from you two,” Missouri interrupted. “I’ve been breaking up fights of boys half your age all day and I’m damn tired. We’re gonna talk this out like adults, and then I’m going to go home and drink half a bottle of pinot and watch Long Island Medium. We understand one another?”

“Yes m’am.” Dean and Cas replied in sync, which only pissed Dean off more.

Missouri crooked an eyebrow as she leaned forward. “I just got off the phone with Susan Anderson – she’s the Vice Principal at Righetti, and the head of the agriculture department. That woman is beside herself about this chicken. I don’t think I need to remind you that little Regina has been on the lamb for a week now?”

Beside him, Castiel nodded very seriously, but Dean couldn’t help himself. “It’s looking pretty…. beak.”

There was a moment of silence before Missouri turned her attention to him with exaggeration. She didn’t say anything, but she sighed through pursed lips, her eyes rolling towards the ceiling and back again. Dean couldn’t be sure because he wasn’t looking directly at him, but he thought he saw the slightest upward crook of Castiel’s lips.

“Glad to see that sense of humor is in tact, Dean.” She leaned back in her chair and down, fiddling around with a desk drawer to get something from inside. “Now obviously I offered to buy them another chicken, but Mrs. Anderson wouldn’t hear of it. And we need to punish those kids of yours, so I’m going to try to kill two birds with one stone, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

Dean’s momentary respite from the seriousness of the situation was long forgotten as he pushed himself forward. “Look, Missouri – we both know that this wasn’t Jack’s idea. Just let him off with a warning, and I’ll ground him this weekend.”

“Well this wasn’t Claire’s idea, if that’s where you’re going with this!” Castiel shot back. “I got the whole story from her last week – Jack saw some show where the kids talk about some tradition of stealing the other school’s mascot before the home game, and looped Claire into it. If anyone should be punished here, it’s him.”

“It was Claire that decided to show Jack ‘Saved by the Bell’ which, side note, I couldn’t get Jack to stop saying ‘Zoinks!’ for a week so special thanks to her for that one too...” Dean grumbled, still looking at Missouri. He wasn’t about to give the guy the dignity of a glance. “And then she-”

Thwap! The sound of a gavel hitting the edge of the desk shut Dean up instantly. He looked down at it and then at Missouri, who looked three thousand percent done. “If you two don’t shut your damn mouths, I’m going to send you to detention as well. Go ahead and try me.”

Dean pushed out a breath and beside him, Castiel huffed and crossed his arms. Missouri’s eyes darted between the two of them as if trying to decide who’s neck to wring first. Because Dean had a death wish, he couldn’t help opening his mouth to ask quietly, “Where did you get a gavel…..?”

“The point isn’t that I have it Dean, it’s that I’m gonna whoop your ass with it if you don’t act like an adult!”

He swallowed. “Understood.”

“Now – the punishment.” She finally found whatever it was she was looking for in her desk and pulled out a few sheets of paper. “A week’s worth of detention is happening – starting today. I also want both of your children to sign up with a local charity called Clean Up Your Act – they go to a new spot in the city every Sunday morning and pick up garbage. They’re going to do that for at least two months until they can get a good sense of respect for the world around them.”

“Wait a minute,” Dean began, his fingers gripping the seat. “Your punishment for Jack and Claire is for them to spend more time together? Are you nuts!?”

“You know I am not, Dean. Watch your mouth.”

“I don’t want to agree with Dean on anything, but that is not the way to fix this problem, Ms. Mosley.” Castiel said. “I've been trying to keep Claire away from Jack for months, this isn't going to help that situation.”

“Now you two are intelligent men, so I'm gonna explain to you a few things.” She placed the paperwork in from of each other of them, like a foregone conclusion. “Do you know why those two are so drawn to each other?”

“Because blonds of a feather do stupid things together?”

Missouri's eyes had to be tired of rolling by now, but she continued. “No Dean - they're both orphans. They both lost their parents at very young ages.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. He certainly knew that about Jack, but this was new information about Claire. He'd assumed Claire was Castiel biological daughter based off of their matching wide, blue eyes (which we're definitely not mesmerizing on Castiel, shut up) but now that he glanced over, the man's ring finger was blank. Castiel seemed to be making similar assessments about Dean, and their covert glances met and turned to scowls.

Well shit. Dean would be lying if he said he hadn’t wanted Jack to find a friend who he could relate to about that sort of stuff. Sure, he and Sam knew that pain, but it was different coming from them - there’s something about adults when you’re just a kid that displaces their pain, like somehow adults don’t feel things as strongly as they do as teenagers. Even if in this case, their situations aren’t all that dissimilar.

Still - Claire is trouble. And he could always hire a damn shrink to help Jack through the issues with his mother. Not worth this dark path he’s walking down for a free shoulder to cry on.

“As much trouble as these two are together, I think in the end, they’re really helping each other out.” Missouri continued. “Dean, wouldn’t you say Jack seems more comfortable in social situations in the last few months?”

Dean frowned, but he had to nod his head in agreement. Jack’s always been a little socially awkward (something, frankly, neither he or Sam really knew how to help with) but in the last few months, he has seemed to make more of an effort to be social. They’d been surprised when he’d asked to be driven to the movies a few Saturday nights to “meet friends”. They didn’t even know he had friends. And the other day, Sam heard him talking on the phone to someone named Kaia and laughing.

It may not seem like much, but for a kid that had mostly kept to himself for the better part of sixteen years, that was pretty huge.

“And Castiel - haven’t Claire’s grades improved significantly this semester?”

From the corner of his eye, Dean could see Castiel give a short nod. Well, that is interesting. Dean had noticed that Jack and Claire seem to study together a couple times a week, but he didn’t know she’d been struggling in school.

Missouri leaned back in her chair and nodded sagely, like she was doing them a favor. “You see what I mean? They need to learn boundaries, same as any other kid at their age. But they’re benefitting from knowing the other. I ain’t gonna put an end to that if I can help it, and you two shouldn’t either.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Missouri raised her eyebrow, and he’s not a stupid man. He knows when a discussion is over, even without the assistance of the gavel still lying on her desk.

“Well, this has been enlightening, Ms. Mosley.” Castiel stood suddenly, pushing his seat back with a squeak. “I can’t say I agree with your methods but we’ll try them - for now. If Jack get’s Claire into any more trouble-”

“Then you know where to find me, Castiel.” she responded, standing to extend her hand to shake. He took it with a scowl, and then turned to Dean, giving a curt “Mr. Winchester” under his breath before seeing himself out. The door slamming echoed through the room.

“That went well,” Missouri mumbled, settling back down in her chair. She rubbed the space between her eyebrows.

Dean ran a hand through his hair. “Missouri, you know I trust you - I’m just worried about Jack.”

Her expression softened and she smiled. “I know Dean, but I wish you wouldn’t. You’re doing a great job with him. I know it ain't easy.”

That was the understatement of the century. He shook his head and stood. “No. But he’s worth it.”

The wind had picked up and the temperature had cooled down by the time Dean made it out to the parking lot, but his blood was still boiling. This is the part about parenting that he hates - compromising. What he wants to do is tell Jack to screw Missouri’s stupid punishment, and stay away from Claire. But when it really gets down to it, there really isn’t going to be a good way to keep them apart. Plus, that’s a pretty shitty way to teach Jack about respecting authority, something he really wants the kid to learn, even if Dean himself is a little wishy washy on the subject.

The key to the Impala slides easily into the lock but he hesitates before turning it - there’s a crunch in the gravel behind him. One glance over his shoulder and he’s met with a ice-blue glare.

“Are you kidding me?” he pulled the key free and stuck it back into his pocket, turning to face Castiel. His arms crossed automatically. “You’re actually waiting for me in the parking lot? What is this, high school?”

Castiel frowned, his hands open as he gestures around him. “Yes Dean, this is in fact a high school. I thought we could discuss this issue without any further distractions.”

“What is there to discuss? Your kid is a looney, and I want to keep her as far away from Jack as possible.”

Castiel stepped back like he’d been slapped. “Claire is not a ‘looney’,” he grumbled. “She’s had a very hard life and she was doing just fine until Jack came along and egged her on. He’s a terrible influence on her.”

Dean felt the blood rushing to the tips of his ears. He should put an end to this right now and ditch this guy like a bad habit, but something stubborn and angry inside of him kept his feet rooted and his fists clenched at his side. “Jack never broke a single rule until your delinquent daughter came around,” he spit. Castiel narrowed his eyes. Which shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

“I’m a reasonable man, Mr. Winchester,” he began, his voice low. “But that is the last time I will listen to you insult my niece.”

Everything inside of Dean was screaming at him to walk away, but there was something so tempting about taking a step forward towards Castiel, almost like a threat. The guy was pissing him off in just the right way, pushing just the right buttons. He wanted to punch him, half because he was pissed and half for some other, inexplicable reason. There was this feeling, just out of his reach, something magnetic and strong as an ocean current.

He stepped forward.

In a flash, Castiel was on him. Credit where credit is due, the guy didn’t look nearly as strong as he was - Dean’s back slammed against the side of the Impala, one of Castiel’s arms at his throat, the other pinned his bicep to the warm metal. And - oh. Castiel’s face was suddenly much closer. Sharp angles, flared nostrils, pinched eyebrows but - more of that blue. A nuanced blue, this close up, like a stormy sky, edged in black. His lips were full, and pulled back into a snarl.

“Fighting me would be a mistake, Dean,” he growled.

But would it, really?

Ignoring for the moment how completely invigorating it was to be pressed tightly against his car, he gathered his strength and pushed, sending Castiel stumbling back. Castiel may have surprised him, but Dean spends an hour a day in the gym at the station - he’s no wilting flower either.

“Just make sure Claire keeps away from Jack,” he said, clenching his fists. “Or we will have a damn problem. Understood?”

Castiel didn’t say anything but he nodded, his lips drawn to a firm line. They stood a foot away from each other for a moment, shoulders tense, not sure if the other was going to make a move. Dean could feel his heart thundering in his chest and took a measured breath. Then Castiel blinked, spun on his heel, and stomped away.

And strangely, Dean felt this sort of pull as he did, like an invisible line connected the two of them. Which is stupid, because he hates him. He hates his stupid, handsome face.

He peeled out of the parking lot with a screech, leaving black tire marks in his wake. As if a small act of aggression could give him the upper hand in what felt like a losing battle anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

The analog clock on the wall glugged to the next second. 

Tick.

Tick.

In front of him laid a piece of blue lined paper, his name written neatly in the top right hand corner. Next to that, a freshly sharpened pencil. Both sitting atop a wooden desk that creaked as he shifted.

Tick.

He glanced up, his soft blond hair falling in front of his eyes. Brushing it away, he took in the expanse of the whiteboard, reading the same sentence again. Maybe this time he’ll feel some spark of inspiration.

Tick.

_ Who do you think you are? _

Tick.

“Alright, who’s gonna volunteer to be the princess?” Claire’s voice boomed from beside him, shattering the silence like glass. She wasn’t so much sitting at her desk as she was stretched out below it, the heels of her boots stiff against linoleum. “We all know  _ I’m _ the criminal, and that makes Jack-”

“SHHHH!” Patience finally turned from her spot in front of him, her eyes wide with fear. “Ms. Moseley told us we couldn’t talk!”

“So - Patience is volunteering, then?” From the otherside of Claire came a gentle snicker. It was Kaia, laughing a bit as she hunched over her desk, her dark hair hiding most of her face. Only the corner of her upturned mouth is visible.

“Claire, don’t you think we’re in enough trouble as it is?” Alex finally turned to face the rest of the group. She’s purposefully distanced herself, as if being in too close of proximity meant that she’s actually part of the group of delinquents. In reality, she’s earned her detention like everyone else.

Claire cocked an eyebrow - she always loves a good row with Alex. “I just thought, since you’re the  _ brainy _ one and all, you would have figured out by now what Ms. Mosely is trying to do.”

“She’s trying to punish us.”

“She’s  _ trying _ to reenact the Breakfast Club,” Claire rolled her eyes and then looked from person to person, as if waiting for some kind of response. When she didn’t get one, she sighed dramatically (as if there were any other kind coming from her mouth). “Seriously, nothing? Molly Ringwald, Emilio Estevez - the Brat Pack?” Her hands went to the sides of her head and she groaned. “Okay, first of all, every one of you is coming over tomorrow night because this is on Netflix and you need an  _ education _ . A proper one.”

“Did you have a point Claire, or are you just making noise?” Alex sneered, but Jack could tell she wasn’t actually angry. If he had to guess, she seemed almost embarrassed.

“Principal Mosley is really banking on us never watching a movie from the 80’s because this is literally a reference from the movie,” Claire went on, picking a piece of blond hair from her shoulder and twirling it between her fingers. “It’s about a group of kids that meet in detention and have to answer that question.” She pointed at the whiteboard.

Kaia pushed her hair behind an ear and sat up straighter. “And what happened?”

Claire didn’t miss a beat. She flashed her famous winning combination wink/smirk and said, “You’ll have to come over and find out.”

Kaia blushed and sank back down, a small smile crossing her face. That must mean she’s happy, Jack thought. Or maybe a little shy? Since he and Claire had become friends about a year ago, she’d taken it upon herself to teach him how to read people better. In truth, it was never his strong suit, and it wasn’t like Sam, Dean, or Bobby had been particularly good at it themselves. Or maybe it was just that they were so busy making sure he ate and other essential life functions that they sorta forgot about some of the more extra parts of parenting.

At any rate, he was starting to get the hang of it. Now what he had to work on was doing it quickly, because what it often led to was the situation he found himself in now, where he’s been staring at Kaia in silence for an uncomfortably long time. She smiled at him, genuine and small.

He blinked and looked away, back at his blank page.  _ Who do I think I am? _ He picked up his pencil and began to write whatever came into his head.

_ I am Jack. I am sixteen years old. I live with Sam, Dean, and Uncle Bobby. I have a cat named Nougat. When I wake up in the morning, she’s curled next to me. Sometimes, when I dream, there's a woman - it’s just her body, sort of hovering right out of reach. I can’t hear her or see her, really. But I feel her warmth next to me like hug. I think she’s my mom. Sometimes it feels like the dream lasts for days. And when I wake up, it’s just Nougat curled up next to my hip and purring. Maybe I believe in reincarnation? Sometimes it feels- _

“You’re supposed to be writing about who you are, not about your weird mom dreams.” Claire had leaned over into Jack’s space, reading a bit over his shoulder. He expected to be met with a smirk when he met her gaze, but instead it was a small, gentle smile. “Why don’t you write about being an athlete? That’s what she wants to hear.”

“None of this really matters anyway…” Kaia muttered under her breath. “It’s just a stupid assignment to keep us quiet until our hour is up. She’s never going to read these. We might as well be writing ‘I will not tell lies’ a dozen times in our blood.”

“That’s enough Harry Potter for you,” Patience turned, setting her pencil down. She adjusted the ponytail at her nape, tightening it.

“So, I forgot to ask, did Dean go all Dumbledore on you?” Claire joked, poking Jack in the arm. “You know, with the crazy, nonsensical yelling that wasn’t actually in the book?”

Jack furrowed his brow. As much as he diligently sits through whatever movie Claire puts on when they’re hanging at her house on the weekend, he doesn’t seem to retain the ability to catch onto references like that. Still, he supposes he gets the gist of it. “Dean was mad, but it was weird,” he said. “He didn’t really yell, it almost seemed like he was more mad at the principal than at me. And he really hated your uncle.”

“Uncle ‘perfect angel’ Cas? I’ve never met anyone who didn’t think the sunshines right out of his ass,” she snorted. Claire and her uncle had a tumultuous relationship. She blamed it on the fact that he’s “a stick-up-his-butt nosey worry wart”, but even Jack could see that was really just that he’s worried about her.

See, on the outside, it would be really difficult to see why he and Claire get along as well as they did, because for all intents and purposes, they are substantially different. Like oil and water, fire and ice. But they both acutely knew the pain of losing their parents. And that drew them together like magnets.

Claire’s parents passed away when she was ten. Jimmy and Amelia used to be in the national guard, and whenever they would take trips overseas, she would stay with her Uncle Cas. One deployment, they never came home - small plane crash off the coast of Japan - and she just stayed with Cas. They’d named him as her guardian in the event of their deaths anyway, and he’d built a house big enough for two. She said she liked him well enough until about two years ago, when he started asking more questions about who she was talking to online, and where she was staying overnight and - look, to Jack, it just seemed like good parenting type questions. But Claire claimed Cas was “harshing her buzz” and so she’d been pulling away ever since. She said she’d expected him to act like the cool uncle that she had stayed with every summer, not the dweeb Dad that was in her hair all the time.

And Jack could relate to that, just a little. He’d never known his mother, Kelly. She was best friends with Sam and Dean when they were all in high school, so sometimes they would share a funny story about her. And it was enough of a glimpse into who she was to sustain him for a while. She died when he was born, and they’d never really told him that story, but he supposed that was for the best. Growing up though, he didn’t feel like much was missing. The three of them, and their Uncle Bobby, had lived in the same rickety house for as long as he can remember. And although he doesn’t have a mother, each of them sort of share the load of being normal parents. Sam helped him with his homework and made sure that he’s alright emotionally. He’s the one that wanted to get him to go to therapy, someday. Uncle Bobby, even though he’s in a wheelchair, kept things fun. He was always joking around, or planning campouts, or teaching Jack how to put an engine back together.

Dean was the disciplinarian, and it has always been that way. For as long as he can remember, if he got into trouble, it was always Dean that sat him down and had a “talk”. The other two may be there, but Dean was the one actually speaking. Which is why it was so weird that instead of getting after Jack for what he did, he instead huffed about Ms Mosley. (He’ll admit, their prank wasn’t the most well thought out idea he’d ever had. And he’s not been able to sleep, thinking about that chicken.) And then even more strangely, Claire’s uncle.

“He said a lot about him. At one point, I’m pretty sure he mumbled something about his ‘stupid handsome jawline’,” Jack said, pushing his hair back. “Eventually he said, ‘Just do Missouri’s stupid punishment, but then I want you to completely cut all ties with Claire. End of discussion.’”

“He’s such a reasonable man…” Claire rolled her eyes. “My Uncle said the same thing - that I havefta stop being friends with you. I told him to pound sand. He said he didn’t understand that reference, then left the room, went on the computer, looked it up, came back and yelled at me some more. Wait,” she paused, narrowing her eyes. “Did Dean call my uncle ‘handsome’?”

“Yeah, something like that. He kept murmuring about blue eyes too. I didn’t really notice until Sam told him to stay on topic.”

“Huh,” Claire said, sitting back for a moment. She twisted a lock of her blond hair, looking pensive. “My uncle said something weird too. He said, ‘I met Mr. Winchester, and I can understand, Claire, if Jack’s attractiveness is perhaps skewing your view of the situation.’ Which, I mean, no offense Jack, but my first thought was, ‘Ew’. But maybe he said that because he thought Dean was blood related to you in some way, and that means he thought Dean was hot…”

“So?” Jack chewed on the edge of his pencil. It didn’t taste very good, but the wood sank into his canines pleasantly.

Claire made a rolling motion with her hands, as if that would help his brain catch on to whatever she was implying. It sorta looked like she was doing a dance, and next to her, Kaia watched the motion with interest. He finally gave up with a shrug, and she huffed. “So! Dean and my uncle - they’re into each other…..”

“Ohhhhhh,” Alex said, turning around again. Her full lips were pulled back to a wicked grin. “Claire that’s brilliant. You’re gonna Parent Trap ‘em.”

_ “We’re _ gonna Parent Trap ‘em,” she agreed, nodding.

Jack threw his head back, exasperated. “Claire. I don’t understand that reference. What is a Parent Trap?”

“First of all, that is the second movie we’re watching on Friday,” she said, pointing to Jack. “But the Parent Trap is the classic tale of two siblings with divorced parents getting them back together again so that they’ll both find their chill and leave the two siblings alone.”

While Jack could admit that they have a lot in common, a shared blood type wasn’t one of them. “We aren’t related, Claire.”

She sighed. “Duh. And they aren’t divorced. But it’s the same principal. I know Uncle Cas is on my nerves all the time because besides doing remote architecture jobs, he’s bored as hell. He hasn't been on a date since I’ve been around. And I’m guessing Dean is the same way?”

“He’s - well, yea. Now that I think about it. Which I never really have,” Jack admitted. In fact, now that he was thinking about it, none of them really ever date. Sometimes Sam talks about this woman, Eileen, that he works with at the veterinary office. And most of those times, he gets teased about it by Dean and Bobby. But none of them have really ever brought anyone home or been out on dates. Why is that?

“So - we should hook them up!” Claire sat back into her chair, like she’d just solved all of the world’s problems. “Gets them off our back, keeps ‘em occupied and who knows? Maybe they’ll actually go back on this whole ‘keeping us apart’ thing after all.”

“Well okay, Miss Matchmaker, that’s easy to say - but how are you gonna actually get it done?” Patience turned around in her seat, straddling the chair. “They clearly hate each other, so it’s not like its going to be easy to get them into the same room together. You gonna go classic here, set them up on a blind date?”

“Ew no, too cliche,” Alex scoffed. “Gotta be more convoluted than that if you’re gonna go true Parent Trap style.”

“I think we could cook up some ideas, but we gotta work fast.” Claire glanced up at the clock, and Jack followed her line of sight. They had about ten minutes before Ms Mosley was due back in to let them out (likely after one final lecture, as had been her routine the rest of the week of detentions). “Uh, well maybe we should work from home. Alex, your mom still have that open door policy?”

She rolled her eyes, but nodded. “She took in Kaia, didn’t she? She doesn’t care who comes over.”

Kaia stuck her tongue out after Alex, but Clare just patted her arm. “Great. Let's meet over there, tomorrow night at 7. Jack, tell Sam you're going to study with Kaia, he will believe it. And don’t tell Dean anything.”

“I don’t like lying-”

“It’s not a lie Jack,” Claire winked. “It’s an investment in their future!”


	3. Chapter 3

For the fifth time, Claire pulled out the bobby pins from the braid on the side of her head. This time, she threw them across the room with a groan. They landed softly on her comforter, and she wished, desperately, they’d made more of a satisfying clanging noise. Maybe they would have soothed a little bit of the frustration she could feel boiling under her skin.

She’d been sitting at her vanity for the better part of an hour, trying to get her long, sandy blond locks to behave themselves and it was time to face the reality of the situation.

She’s bisexual.

You may not think that spending an hour braiding your hair would draw one to that conclusion, but it was just the end in a long line of actions she’d taken to make sure everything to do with Kaia just went smooth as butter. The perfect outfit. The perfect joke. The perfect smirk at the perfect moment. The perfect wink. The perfect opportunity for their hands to be just close enough in case she wanted to grab it.

These are not actions a heterosexual woman makes for another heterosexual woman. And until this moment, she’d chalked it up to one of those often talked about “friend crushes”. The kind women tell themselves they have on their friend that they just can’t stop thinking about. Especially when she smiles - you know the one, where her head’s kinda tilted, and it’s more in her eyes than her lips, and there’s this tiny look of mischief, like she might drag Claire into another world for an adventure….

Anyway, yeah, she was really done kidding herself. She had been sitting here trying to look her best, being meticulous about her outfit down to her socks and that just, well, ain't something you do for a buddy.

She’s certainly not doing it for Jack. Ew. Double ew.

Kaia was - different. When she walks into a room, it’s like she’s the sun, and Claire is so busy trying to be all the different planets at once she didn’t even notice she’d started orbiting around her. But now she’s in everything that Claire does. She wakes up in the morning and texts her - something funny and light and you know, just to make sure she’s having a good morning. She finds her at lunch and has to sit near her, sometimes next to her, sometimes across from her. The greatest joy she’s ever felt is watching the slow crawl of a smile light up her face when Claire’s the cause. And oh, that girl’s darkness. It’s like Claire’s own, depthless and tempting. She wants to fall into it like a black hole and never be out of it again. They can be there together - just the two of them against the world.

Deciding that her hair looked better down (or at least, good enough) she forced herself to leave her bedroom. Walking down the stairs, she could hear the sounds of the sink, and dishes being washed. If she tiptoes like a mouse, she might be able to make it out the front door without-

“Claire, are you leaving?” Uncle Cas called, turning off the water.

 _Shit._ “Uh, yeah, I’m going to Alex’s,” she called back, grabbing her backpack from the doorway. “I’m staying the night over there, don’t wait up.”

“Just a minute,” he said, and she could hear the sounds of his footsteps before he came to face her. He was wearing that ridiculous apron again, the one she made for him in fourth grade. It was made of brown canvas, and she’d puff painted “Uncle Cas” on the front in blue glittery paint and a shaky hand. It was covered in stains no mere washing machine would ever be able to get out, and frankly, it’s embarrassing as hell.

“Why do you still wear that?” she groaned. “You make that sweet big-shot architect money. Is this your way of telling me you want a better one for Christmas?”

Uncle Cas looked down at the apron, smoothing it against his chest. “I happen to love this apron. My little niece gave it to me, back when she actually liked me a very, very long time ago.”

“Before I turned seventeen, you mean.”

“I said what I said.”

Claire sighed and rolled her eyes. “Anyway, I don’t know how you expect to pick up a hot dude in something like that.”

Uncle Cas flinched, but then smoothed his features again. Alright, maybe that was just a little below the belt. She was mad at him, but she didn’t want to hurt him. “If a man doesn’t like me in this fine attire, he’s no man for me. And anyway,” he said, leveling her with a stern look. “I need to know that Jack isn’t going to be at Alex’s too. We had an agreement.”

“Jack will not be at Alex’s house,” she replied, crossing her arms.

Uncle Cas squinted. “You said that very precisely.”

“I said what I said.”

He looked a tad defeated, but he dropped it. “Okay, give me a hug. Be safe.” He wrapped her up into his arms, tucking her head under his chin. “Don’t sleep with any men.”

“I won’t,” she murmured into his chest with a groan. She always pretends like this is sheer torture, but in truth she loves the feeling of being engulfed by her uncle. Since he and her dad were twins, it feels like him for just a moment. It’s like the both of them hugging her at once, protective and steady. She pulled away and reached for the door handle.

“Don’t sleep with any women either.” He winked, and her stomach dropped.

“How did you-”

“I may not catch on to many things, Claire, but the way you talk about Kaia?I was born at night, but it wasn’t _last night_ ,” he smiled. “Just - be careful. Young relationships can feel really intense, and I just don’t want you to-”

“Oooo! Look at the time, I’m late! Gotta go!” she yelled, pulling the door open quickly and launching herself into the night. She could hear his warnings echoing behind her as she hurried down the sidewalk.

“So, you lied,” Jack said, in that matter-of-fact way of his. Honestly, he is sometimes so eerily like her uncle it gives her the heebie jeebies. From their brutal honesty, to the way they squint at her when she’s confused them, to the shape of their eyes - if she didn’t know any better, she’d think Jack was actually her uncle’s son. Which would make him her cousin, which in all honesty, might explain why they felt so instantly comfortable with one another.

“I didn’t lie, _per say_ ,” she said, leaning back against the couch. “I said you weren’t going to be at Alex’s.”

“But I’m here. And this is where Alex lives.”

“Yes, but it’s also where I live,” Kaia said, handing Claire a soda before sitting down next to her.

“Exactly. You’re at Kaia’s house.” She pointed at Jack, where he sat on the reclining chair, on the opposite side of the room, and then at herself. “And I’m at Alex’s house.”

Jack looked at her, then looked around the living room. “It’s the same house.”

“But Uncle Cas doesn't know that, does he?” she said, only feeling marginally bad about stretching the truth. In reality, it hadn’t been very long that Kaia had lived with Jody. She was so glad she’d landed here - Kaia had a hard life. She’d been moved from foster home to foster home for the better part of ten years, and it wouldn't be long before she aged out of it and then really would have been up a creek. Jody had opened her home to foster kids years ago after her own husband and son were killed in an accident. Alex had come to live with her when she was about ten, and Claire watched the transformation from a frightened, angry girl to someone much more self assured. Now she volunteered with Jody at the police station a couple nights a week, and she’s been a great help to Kaia. Plus, Jody told Kaia that even though she’s seventeen, she’s not going to kick her out once she turns eighteen - she told her she can stay all through college or trade school, as long as she goes.

“Besides, we’re really here ultimately to ensure his happiness so he’ll probably be thanking us for this little transgression someday.”

“I doubt that,” Alex scoffed, setting a couple of pizzas down on the living room table. The smell wafted up and pulled Claire in, and she was peeking at the contents before she could stop herself. Alex smacked her hand away. “At least wait for plates, you savage.”

“But I haven’t eaten today…” she whined, staring down the melted cheesy goodness.

“You need to eat more, Claire,” Kaia piped up from beside her. She’s close - super close in fact. Their legs are side by side and it has been heating up Claire’s insides for the better part of ten minutes but she’s been playing it so cool. So damn cool. Until her stomach lets out a loud rumble and Kaia’s eyes widen and _oh crap_ , why are bodies horrible at timing?

“Claire?” Jack piped up, pulling his legs to sit cross legged on the recliner. He looked ridiculous, but she did recognize this is often the position he puts himself in when he’s about to say something he’s nervous about. “I’ve been thinking about this trapping, and what we could do.”

“Mhm.” She’s half listening, half about to maul some unsuspecting pizza.

“Dean’s a firefighter,” Jack began, biting his lower lip. “So, when there’s a fire, he has to go to it. To check it out.”

Alex was finally back with the plates, and she grabbed one as soon as they hit the table. She flipped the pizza box open, nearly overtaken with the delicious smell of cheese. Beside her, a small rumble sounded like it came from Kaia. She glanced over at her and she ducked her head, giving her a small, embarrassed smile. “Guess I’m hungry too,” Kaia said softly.

Claire melted more than the mozzarella in front of her. She smiled back, handing Kaia her own plate. “You take first dibs.”

“Claire? Are you listening?”

Claire’s head shot up and stared down Jack. That’s right, he was saying something. “Yeah, what? Yes - Jack, continue.”

Jack shrugged, extending his hands out. “That’s it. That’s my idea.”

“Hold up,” Claire squinted, pizza goodness temporarily forgotten as Kaia digged into it around her. “Are you suggesting we set something on fire? Like, what, my house?”

“When your Uncle is home, yes.” Jack nodded. “It wouldn’t need to be anything too bad, just enough to set off the automatic alarm system he has set up. When that’s triggered, the fire department has to investigate, even if the homeowner says everything is fine.”

Claire took a deep breath. See, when Uncle Cas said that Jack is a bad influence on Claire, that’s not _exactly_ wrong. He comes up with these totally crazy, off the wall, not socially acceptable ideas all the time. Stuff Claire never would have thought about. It’s one of the reasons she really likes him. But Uncle Cas thinks that Jack then makes her go along with them. Nothing can be further from the truth. Instead, she just feels inspired, a little crazy maybe. It fills her with an excitement she can’t put her finger on.

But setting her own house on fire?

“Oh, I am so in!” she squealed.


	4. Chapter 4

Castiel got into architecture because it seemed like a job where he could apply his mechanical skills, his love for finding the right aesthetic, and most importantly, not talk to another soul for days at a time. It has been really disappointing to find that the latter isn’t actually part of the job.

He’d been on a Skype call for the last hour with a client based out of Australia. They bought a plot of land out near Alpine and had been working with him for two months on the final details of the build. To be clear, he sent them the “final” version of the blueprints two months ago. They’ve been doing bi-weekly Skype calls to “tweak” it ever since.

“So, you’ll go ahead and add that extra set of cabinets, then?” Charlotte asked. The view of her on the webcam was uncomfortably close, and he could only assume the blueprints she was looking at were actually on the computer she was using to talk to him on. If he looked close enough, he could probably count her nose hairs. “It’s just that Oliver really wants a separate cabinet for all of his mugs from his travels, you understand? I don’t want it interfering with my china, and we have the room.”

“Of course.” he answered, which was pretty much the only thing that he ever says on these calls. One time he threw in a, “As you wish,” just to be cheeky, but they didn’t catch onto his sarcasm. They just insisted that he add a cabinet above the jetted tub for “reasons”. Ew.

“Aw, you’re just the best, Castiel. Thanks heaps!” Charlotte said. “I really think this is it this time. We’re finally going to be able to break ground!”

She’s said that at the end of every call for the last two months.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Williams, I’ll go ahead and add this to the blueprints and send them back to you for a final look by the end of my day tomorrow. Sound good?”

She agreed with a smile, and with a final send off, Castiel closed his computer on a sigh. It really would be much worse if he was doing all of this extra work for free - but every time she’s extended the amount of work on this project, she’s added extra money too. In fact, he’ll probably make enough extra to get Claire that laptop she wants for Christmas, so he can’t complain too much.

Or maybe he could just buy himself a massage. He leaned back in his desk chair, leather, padded and comfortable, letting his back stretch. His neck popped as he moved it side to side, and he stretched his arms above his head. The clock on his wall read just after six. It was Saturday, and he felt a slight tinge of guilt. He’s still reasonably young - mid-thirties, moderately successful, not terrible looking - and yet here it was, the weekend night to go out, and while there’s plenty of great spots in Hillcrest for him to find a man that strikes his fancy, nothing about actually leaving the house sounded very appealing. On the contrary, in fact. There was a new season of the Great British Bake Off just released on Netflix, and he has leftover homemade mac and cheese in the fridge which is always better the next day. Plus, a bath sounded _amazing_.

The sun was setting as he made his way through the house towards the bathroom, giving the house a sort of dim glow. Claire’s out, and she will be for the rest of the night. It was a pretty common occurrence these days that she’s out with Alex or Kaia for most of the weekend. He doesn’t mind so much except that it highlights just how empty the house really is.

Of course, that’s really all he ever wanted anyway, so he was a little surprised to find that it pains him as much as it does. Before Jimmy and Amelia passed, the plan was always to find a quiet spot to settle down. Maybe find a nice guy that enjoyed historical fiction as much as he did. Maybe adopt a lazy, fat cat from the local shelter they’d name something ironic like “Speedy”. They’d do coupley things like go to farmers markets and bump hips when they tried to make dinner together. But the plan was quaint and quiet and lowkey.

Then Claire came along. Even before Jimmy passed, she was sort of the center of Castiel’s world. Her weekend visits became the highlight of his week, more than any man he dated for any period of time. When tragedy struck, it just made sense for Claire to live with him, and even though it was never really part of his small, simple life plan, it was in many ways so much better. Claire kept him on his toes, kept him laughing and alive and engaged with the modern world. His introverted nature might have kept him in the shadows, but then suddenly having an eleven year old girl with a bucket of emotions about her parents, not to mention the onset of puberty, all hitting at the same time well - Castiel didn’t get the luxury of seclusion.

Most of all, Castiel felt needed. And that was a feeling he never anticipated loving so much.

He sighed as he ran a hand under the tap, checking the temperature of the bathwater. He’d splurged on the tub when he’d had the house built just before Claire moved in, and it has been his sanctuary ever since. Its a corner unit, with a built in headrest. Feeling indulgent, he even lit the little sandalwood candle Clare had gotten him for Father’s Day. Stripping, he stepped into the warm water as soon as the tub was full. The water came nearly up to his chin as he steeped in further and let himself lay back and close his eyes. There’s something so soothing about the quiet, the only sounds in the room the occasional drip of the tap with the excess water from the pipe. The steam rose and he breathed in, feeling the warm air fill his sinuses and his chest. The muscles in his back began to relax incrementally, melting against the porcelain. And for a moment, he tried to clear his head from every irritation he’s had recently: the ongoing project with the Aussie Williams, the fact that Claire may have fallen in with a bad crowd… and Dean Winchester.

God damn Dean Winchester.

He wanted to hate him, he really did. His son (is it actually his blood relation? Missouri did say Jack was orphaned too…) was undoubtedly a menace and a terrible influence on Claire. So not only was he irritated with Dean for his son, but on some level, he had to be an asshole to have raised an asshole kid.

And yet…

And yet his entire world tilted on its axis when he first saw him. It wasn’t anything crazy like love at first sight or anything so short sighted as all of that. It was the significance of the man. Like something was almost pulling him in, and if they hadn’t been quite literally at each other’s throats he would have asked for his number the second they were out of that office. It wasn’t even about how handsome Dean was, which was almost unfair. The man looked like a runway model - perfect jawline, lean, eyelashes for days, and green eyes that cut right through him.

It was like from the moment he saw Dean, he just wanted to know him. Almost felt like he already did, which is easily the most juvenile, ridiculous thought he’s had since his first ever crush on a boy named Inias in grade school.Still, here in this bathtub, alone in the house, if he let his mind wander to question what Dean’s callused hands would feel like on his skin (and not more practical things like how they’re going to keep their children apart), well, then nobody's the wiser...

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP

He flinched at the shrill sound of his fire alarm, pulling him quickly from his trail of thought. Was it the steam that set it off? That can’t be - he’s been in the tub for ten minutes, it would have already gone off by now. Groaning, he pulled himself from the tub, the water splashing up around the edges with the movement. He took a step onto the rug, and then another on the tile, and then he promptly found himself on the floor of his bathroom.

“Fuck….” he murmured, rubbing his naked hip where it had collided with the ground. He groaned again, pulling himself up by the side of the tub, giving his head a shake to clear it. Grabbing the nearest towel, he wrapped it around his hips, and stepping a bit more gingerly, walked down the hall towards the living room.

He couldn’t immediately smell any smoke. A quick glance around his living room didn’t reveal anything amiss. The kitchen appeared to be clear too when he checked it thoroughly, even going so far as to open the oven to check that he hadn’t left it on. He opened the door to the garage and wandered out there for a moment, immediately regretting the decision as he was still mostly wet and only half covered with a towel and it was freezing.

The more he searched, the more worried he became as the alarm continued to sound. The only place left to check was his and Claire’s rooms and in a flash of panic he realized she could have come home while he was in the tub and he might not have heard. Taking the stairs two at a time he rushed at her bedroom, practically banging on the door when he reached it. “Claire! Claire are you in there?”

“Yeah - hold your horses, geeze…” she said, and then flung the door open. He peered in past her, earning a squeal of disapproval from Claire as he smelled and searched the room for any open flame. There was definitely a sharp smell of smoke, and as he walked toward the scent he was better able to identify it finally - as sage. On her desk, still smoking slightly, was a clump of sage.

“Claire, since when do you practice witchcraft?” he asked as calmly as possible over the sound of the alarm, still blaring.

“It’s a purification spell, Kaia taught it to me,” she said, coming up behind him grabbing the clump, waving it around in the air a bit. “I thought it would be good to, you know, help clear my soul of all of that awful influence Jack has had.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and made his way to her window, pushing it open. In a moment, the blaring of the fire alarm ceased, and his ears practically sighed their relief. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but next time, can you open window?”

She nodded and took a deep breath. “It smelled so good, I didn’t even think about it.”

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Is anyone home?!” a loud voice called out from downstairs.

Shit. Castiel had installed a security system as soon as Claire had come to live with him in an effort to make sure she was a safe as possible. And while he’s so glad he did, one of the many features it came with was automatically calling the fire department when a fire alarm went off for longer than a minute.

“Uh…” he looked down at himself, still only covered in a fluffy blue towel slung low on his hips, and then back up at Claire helplessly. “Claire - could you-?”

“Oh no please don’t make me, Uncle Cas! I have a mask on!” she lamented, in her most teenagery, pitiful voice. Like nails on a chalkboard. It was only then that Castiel actually noticed a sheen of pink spread across her cheeks, chin and forehead he recognized as a skincare mask she occasionally wore. She frowned, gesturing to her (very modest) pjs. “It’s so embarrassing!”

There was a point in time, not to long ago, that Castiel learned when it was absolutely futile to argue with your teen. For Claire, it was over her vanity - if she doesn’t feel presentable, a herd of elephants couldn’t get her to face a stranger. He sighed, pinching the terrycloth tighter, and made his way quickly downstairs to the door. The air was chilly against his still wet skin, and prickles of goosebumps spread across his chest.

“Just a moment!” he called out, reaching the door and flinging it open. “I really appreciate you guys coming out, but there’s nothing-”

And there, looking like a wet dream in bulky yellow firefighter pants, suspenders, and a tight white t-shirt, stood Dean Winchester.

They stood there for a long moment, staring at each other. Dean’s jaw was a little slack, and suddenly, Castiel didn’t feel so cold anymore. In fact, now he was quite sure there _was_ a fire, and it was ignited under his skin, spreading swiftly across his nerves. Dean’s eyes left his own and made a sweeping downward motion - and okay, buddy - two things were suddenly quite clear. One, Dean Winchester was absolutely attracted to men. And two, terrycloth does nothing to hide an emerging boner.

Willing his face into a scowl, Castiel shifted his hips away, trying to look bothered. He gestured behind him in a sharp, sweeping motion. “As you can very well see, there is no fire. You can leave now.”

For a moment, Castiel saw that same heat reflected in Dean's gaze and it felt _dangerous._ Like the moment was unhinged and, _oh God,_ for one solid second, literally _anything_ could happen. And then Dean blinked and his face was stone, lips pursed and pissy. “We have to check the interior of your home. It's procedure.”

Castiel raised an eyebrow, looking down at his half naked form and then back at Dean. “Can I at least put on some pants?”

Dean's pupils flared before he finally turned away, finding a very interesting spot on the ceiling. “I’ll just have a quick look - at your house. At the fire. Where it burned.” he fumbled his words, then sighed heavily. “Just let me in.”

Castiel stepped to the side, letting Dean past the threshold and into the foyer. “I’ll be right back,” he said, before turning to climb the stairs. He could feel Dean’s eyes track him and he wished he was a better man than this, but he might have just let his hips sway a tad more than he usually would with each step.

Serves him right, showing up here, looking like that. Who does he think he is, anyway? Some sort of stupid calendar model? All he needs is an ax slung over his shoulder and he could be Mr. February or something. Castiel would be far more annoyed if he wasn’t so busy thinking about his shoulders. Or his biceps. Or the curve of his neck….

Throwing on jeans (far more discrete in case his body decides to betray him again) and a shirt, he’s back downstairs in a moment, so Dean hadn’t gotten very far. He’d only traveled as far as the adjacent living room and appeared to be looking through his extensive book collection. It was actually one of his favorite spots in the house. When he’d had it built, he’d made sure to include built in shelving on available wall space to house most of his book collection and some of the souvenirs he’s picked up from around the world. When Claire moved it, he did sacrifice a small amount of room to be able to put a television in there. Though in truth, they both used that room mostly to read. (When Claire was actually home)

Dean was standing in front of one of his favorite pieces - a collection of rosaries from his last trip to Italy. His hand was outstretched as if to rest his fingers along the mother of pearl beads.

“Pretty sure you won’t find fire there,” Castiel said, coming up behind him. Dean jumped, pulling his hand back and his body going rigid before he turned back around.

“I was waiting for you. Didn’t want to be rude,” he replied gruffly. “Show me the rest of your house.”

And okay, that’s weird. Castiel is pretty sure Dean doesn’t normally wait to be shown around a house he thinks might be on fire, but maybe he’s just trying to be polite? Either way, it was a strange turn of events. “Those are from Vatican City, by the way,” he nodded towards the rosaries, and Dean followed his gaze. “Got them from a street vendor outside of the Sistine Chapel.”

“You religious?” he asked, his tone genuinely curious.

“Not remotely,” Castiel huffed a laugh. “I do find some comfort in the ritual of Catholicism, though. And the newest Pope is a wonderful man. Mostly I like to collect unusual things from the places I visit. I like to look at them later and remember how that place made me feel.” He stopped himself from going further, because he wasn’t exactly sure how he’d ended up saying that much in the first place. Meeting Dean’s eye again, he could see that he was just as confused, but didn’t make a snarky comment in return either. 

With a nod towards the foyer, he gave a quick, “Follow me,” before making his way to the kitchen. As much as he enjoyed the library, he was more proud of how his kitchen turned out. It was across the way from the library space, and huge. Dark slate grey served to highlight white cabinetry and white and gold marble countertops. In the center was an island with an inset stove, and currently, stacks of paper and a basket of fruit that probably had seen better days.

Dean took a cursory glance around and then moved to check the obvious places like the stovetop and the oven. He turned the burners on and back off, pinching his nose and giving it a sniff for excess gas, which was far more adorable than it had any right to be. Castiel stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching.

“You get these cabinets custom made?” Dean said, appearing to have checked the fire potential places thoroughly.

Cas nodded. “I’m an architect, so I had most of the house done to my specifications.”

“Architect huh?” Dean moved towards him, a little of his bravado fading. “You, uh, know any good contractors?”

“A few.” Castiel raised an eyebrow, cautious. Dean was being awfully chatty. Weren’t they supposed to hate each other? It’s sorta hard when he’s admiring all of the things Castiel loves about his home. “Why?”

“Brother and I are looking for one to do some work on our house,” he said, producing a small notebook from his pocket. He wrote a few things down and didn’t look up. “My uncle - he lives with us - he’s in a chair and we’re looking to get a few doorways widened. We could do it, just want it done right, you know?”

That was a lot to process. “Oh - I didn’t know…”

“How could you - ain't exactly like we exchanged pleasantries before.” Dean finally looked up with a raised brow, a hint of mirth in his eye. “Anyway, wasn’t such a big deal when he was younger but we can tell it’s getting harder for him. Not that he’d ever ask for it.”

So, Jack lives with Dean, Dean’s brother, and their disabled Uncle. That wasn’t exactly the home life he’d pictured for the kid. Castiel had in his mind that Jack lived with Dean and his picture perfect wife, in their picture perfect home, wanting for nothing, entitled as he could be. Even when he learned Jack was an orphan like Claire, he imagined that he’d been adopted or something. This sounded much less conventional.

“Did you want to see the rest of the house?” Castiel asked suddenly, attempting to focus again on the reason Dean was here in the first place. He nodded, placing the notebook back in his pocket and gestured towards the stairs.

Dean took the steps two at a time behind Castiel. He led him across the landing to the guest bedroom, and he peeked his head inside for a moment before nodding to proceed. Next was Claire’s room, where she was already standing in the doorway, carefully blowing on freshly painted nails, now in a robe with a freshly washed face. (Castiel supposed this classified her as more “presentable”.)

“This must be the famous Claire,” Dean said. He crossed his arms but had the hint of a smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Jack’s father.”

“No you’re not,” she replied, a wicked grin crossing her lips.

“Claire!” Castiel chided. He really did think Jack was the worse influence here, but she wasn’t a picnic all of the time either. “That’s rude. Apologize to Mr. Winchester right now.”

She didn’t look all that sorry as she said, “Sorry, Mr. Winchester,” but Dean turned around to Castiel, a little sheepish.

“I’m not Jack’s biological dad, but my brother and I adopted him when he was six months old. We’re the only fathers he’s ever known,” he replied, his tone measured. “Anyway, I smell smoke coming from inside your room. Is something on fire?”

“ _Was_ on fire,” Castiel clarified, realizing suddenly that the actual reason that the fire alarm went off hadn’t actually come up yet. “Claire fancied herself a witch this evening and was burning some sage.”

“Is that so?” Dean’s eyes lit up. “That wouldn’t have anything to do with Kaia, would it?”

Claire ducked her head, frowning. “So what if it did?”

Dean turned to Castiel with a half smile. “Jack was asking a lot of Pagan related questions the other night. Got him to confess which witch it was,” he winked.

Oh that wink is entirely too charming. Someone should arrest him immediately.

“Being a Pagan isn’t devil worship you know!” Claire butted in, throwing her hands on her hips.

Dean waved his hand around, dismissive. “I’m well aware. Your principal Missouri is a family friend, and she’s been practicing for years. Did your spell work?”

“Obviously not, because you’re still here.” Claire stuck her tongue out at Dean, and Castiel rolled his eyes.

“Claire. That's enough. Brush your teeth and go to bed.”

“You’re not the boss-”

“I absolutely am,” he clarified, his voice going deeper. Her eyes widened for a moment, and then she sighed, nodding and trudging off to the bathroom. He watched her go, and called, “Thank you,” when the door closed gently behind her.

“Boy, they left out how fun teenagers are in the parenting brochures,” Dean said with a light chuckle, and Castiel braced himself for the snarky remark about Claire, but it never came. Finally, Dean cleared his throat. “I guess I should go, now that I’ve discovered the source of the smoke.”

“It feels weird to not show you the last bit of the house, since I’ve taken you on a tour of the rest of it,” Castiel said, finding that as he said it, it actually felt true. In truth he just wanted to keep Dean around a hair longer because this version of Dean was far more pleasant than the one that challenged him in the high school parking and peeled out in an angry black car.

“Uh, sure.”

The last room was his - the master bedroom. He led Dean inside, and all of the sudden things felt more intimate.

He supposed it was because this was his cherished space. He’d always been someone who needed to have some kind of sanctuary, a place to escape to when he felt overwhelmed. The room itself was painted in muted shades of blue and grey, and together with the white duvet and pillows, everything felt rather simple and clean.

He could feel his own breath quicken, having Dean here, in that outfit, in this space.

“This yours?” Dean asked casually. He nodded.

“Yep.” He accentuated the “p” sound and rocked back on his heels. He watched carefully as Dean explored the space, stepping quietly around the room.

“Wow, this -” Dean stepped forward, towards one of the larger paintings on the wall. “This is beautiful.”

It’s hard for one to assess the true aesthetic of their own art. To Castiel, this painting was more about what it represented than the actual brush strokes. “I stayed with a painter for a month while I was traveling through Costa Rica,” he said. “He was incredibly talented, and truthfully, he helped me a lot with this. I was fascinated by the fireflies near the forest where his cabin was. This is how they looked at dusk. At least to me.”

Castiel reached up and ran a finger delicately along a brush stroke. “I always meant to get back into painting, but San Diego just doesn’t have the sort of vivid colors the rainforest did.”

Dean watched him for a moment, tracking the movement of his hand. Finally he murmured, “He must have been great in bed.”

Castiel was surprised by the bubble of laughter as it erupted from him. He threw his head back with it, feeling it in his belly. “Actually no, he was pretty terrible.” he replied, smiling and meeting Dean’s gaze. He lowered his voice. “He’d get distracted easily. A noise, the way the sunset lit up the bedroom, a bug flying by. Everything was inspiration to him, and he would have to stop what he was doing and paint immediately.”

Dean chuckled. “That ain’t exactly a compliment on your bedroom skills, dude.”

“I tried tying him down,” Castiel said before he could stop himself. In fact, he shut his mouth the moment the last word passed his lips, as if he could try to suck it back in. Dean raised an eyebrow and _crap,_ that should be illegal too. Him looking like that - looking at _Castiel_ like that - in this bedroom. Jesus, he was going to erupt.

“I’m sure you did.” Dean swallowed, the pull of his throat reminding Castiel of how dry his own mouth was….

“Well that concludes the tour!” he remarked quickly, and Dean blinked, finally turning away.

“Yes. I’ve determined there is no immediate fire danger,” he replied quite unnecessarily and stepped outside of the bedroom, leaving a strange void in his wake.

Castiel followed him downstairs and held the door open to show him out. At the threshold, Dean turned to say something but Castiel couldn’t help beating him to it. “I could, uh - take a look at it. If you wanted,” he found himself saying before he gave it too much thought. “Widening the doorways in your home. I’ve done that sort of work before.”

“Was that on your trip to Costa Rica, or Italy?” Dean asked with a wink.

Castiel ducked his head a little. He does try not to brag about all of the traveling he’s done, but it was really such a big part of his home. And his life. “Neither, actually. Did a carpentry apprenticeship in Vancouver when I was starting out.”

“Is there anywhere you haven’t been?”

 _Inside of your pants.._.

“Bethlehem. It’s difficult to get there. And China, strangely enough,” he answered, clearing his throat, then realized perhaps Dean was being facetious. He looked up again, but Dean was just giving him this strange look.

“I, uh, would like that. If you had a look at the house, I mean,” Dean said, chewing on his bottom lip. He reached into his pocket and fished out that little notebook again, scribbling something down and ripping it off. “Here’s my number. I work every other weekend, so I’m free next Saturday if you are?”

And just like that, Castiel has made plans to see Dean Winchester again. Like they aren’t mortal enemies hellbent on the other’s destruction. Like they weren’t ready to tear each other limb from limb over their dumb kids just a few days earlier.

As he watched Dean walk down his driveway to the waiting firetruck (there was an entire fire truck outside this whole time?!) he absolutely shamelessly watched his ass the whole time.

What the heck just happened?


	5. Chapter 5

Miss Rowena’s class always smelled like fall, even when the heat of summer hadn’t yet burned off. Claire walked through the double doors of her large classroom, and the smell of sandalwood and pumpkin surrounded her like a cozy blanket. Beside her, Alex took a deep breath, letting her eyes close.

“Mmmmm,” she sighed. “Is it pumpkin spice latte time yet?”

Claire wouldn’t admit this to many people, but the sugary, cinnamon drink was one she fully embraced her basic bitch on. “As soon as the bell rings - you, me, Mr. Blond, Miss. Goody-Two-Shoes and Kaia are gonna pile into the T-Bird and go maul a Starbucks.”

“What, no nickname for Kaia?” Alex nugged her, and Claire stumbled a bit. “Must be _serious_.”

“Shut up.”

The classroom was less of an actual classroom and more of the old auditorium they just never really tore down before building a new one across campus. The front was still a stage, the wood faded and dented, but with enough give when the need arose for an overly dramatic fall. Where the seats used to be now was lined with enough chair/desk combos to seat the twenty or so students. The room now served as the space where Drama 101 was taught by Miss Rowena, who was presently sitting at her incredibly ornate desk admiring her long, red fingernails.

“I mean it, Claire,” Alex said, nabbing a front row seat. Claire begrudgingly sat beside her, though she knew it was practically a guarantee that they’d get chosen for scenes today by doing it. “You seem different with Kaia than you’ve been with anyone else. Like, quieter? More chill? If that makes sense.”

Claire shrugged, reaching into her backpack and retrieving her notebook and a pen. “Yeah well, so what if it is?” she answered.

“So I’m saying it’s nice to see you happy, you sassy bitch.” Alex barked, but when Claire finally turned to face her, she was smiling.

“She’s - different,” Claire started. She’s not normally one to go all gushy on her feelings but she found, for once, that she actually wanted to put words to the feelings sorta churning inside of her. “It’s like - she’s got this secret. I mean, I know she probably has a lot, but it’s not like a _bad secret_. And I just gotta know it, you know? It just totally draws me in.”

Alex frowned. “Sorta? I mean, whatever floats your boat, I guess.”

Claire sighed. How can she explain how Kaia is just the midnight to her endless day? Not like that, of course. She’d never hear the end of it from Alex. And anyway, it was useless now, because there she was, walking in through those double doors alongside of Jack. Claire smiled at her and gave a little wave. Kaia gave her that little crooked half smile that made Claire’s insides turn to jelly, and sat beside her.

“Hey, how was math?” Claire said, for some reason. She didn’t actually want to talk about math.

“Riveting,” Kaia answered, tucking some of her dark hair behind her ear. “Jack fell asleep.”

“I was meditating,” Jack piped up from behind Claire. “To concentrate on the material.”

“People don’t usually snore when they meditate,” Kaia said, and Claire stifled a giggle. “Anyway,” she lowered her voice, moving closer to Claire. “I couldn’t wait to get to this class.”

“Any reason in particular?” Claire said, closing the distance. They were now just a few inches apart. Claire could see the length of Kaia’s lashes, feel the heat of her breath as she sighed. This close, she could pick out the smell that was distinctly Kaia above the overpowering incense wafting through the room. It was dark and earthy, like you were walking through the woods at midnight. Kaia’s smile widened, and her eyes darted to Claire’s lips, then back up to her eyes.

“Nooooope,” she pulled back suddenly, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling and biting her bottom lip.  

 _Oh, she’s good._ Claire would be a hell of a lot more mad if she wasn’t so completely flustered.

Miss Rowena chose that exact moment to slap her hands on her desk, signalling the beginning of class. “Alright, ya wee buggers, take your seats, take your seats. We have much to cover today.” She stood and walked to the front of the class, her dark blue velvet dress flowing behind her. Miss Rowena is always impeccably dressed. Standing just about five feet tall, she somehow remained formidable despite her penchant for wearing floor-length gowns daily. They’ve all agreed she’s probably an actual real life witch and of all their teachers, they just don’t even try to mess with her.

Miss Rowena smiled, serene, pulling a book from behind her back as if by magic. “Today we will enact the final scene from ‘Much Ado About Nothing’. Does everyone remember their characters?”

To her right, Patience raised her hand. “Miss Rowena? Both Andrew and Lucy are out today.”

“Oh dear, our Claudio and Hero. That is a spot of trouble,” she frowned, then suddenly her face lit up and she smiled. “Actually, I believe we’re about to get some help from one of the parents today, if memory serves. And I’ll be reading for Hero.”

Like clockwork, the sound of the double doors being shoved open at the same times startled all of the class. They turned to watch a handsome tall drink of water with long brown hair make his way into the classroom. All eyes were on him and he paused, mid step, in a sort of panic.

“I am in the right class?” he said, looking down at the paper in his hand.

Behind her, Jack hissed. “That’s my other Dad, Sam.”

“Oh! Jack! There you are!” Sam’s smile grew wider as he walked towards the front of the room. He paused in front of Miss Rowena, who had a look of wonder on her face as she took him in. He was easily a foot and a half taller than her, but he was the one who looked intimidated as he stuck his hand out to shake hers. “I’m, uh-”

“Samuel…” she dragged his name across her tongue like it was something sweet. “Charmed.”

They stood like that for a long moment, staring at each other. The juxtaposition of the two of them was almost comedic - not only their opposite stature, but their features as well. Her electric red hair to his soft brown. Her liquid midnight floor length gown to his well worn flannel and sneakers. His hand was so big it encompassed hers completely. Finally, someone behind them coughed (probably from the incense) and the spell was broken, Sam pulling his hand back, and Rowena turning to the rest of the class like she’d just remembered they were there.

“Well then, now that we have our Claudio,” she slammed the book in her grasp against Sam’s abs, who gripped it with a soft “oof”. “The rest of you take your places, and we’ll begin!”

Claire never thought she’d actually enjoy drama. Too much, well, _drama_ involved for her. She’d thought at best it would be an easy A she could practically sleep through as long as she showed up. But Miss Rowena had actually made boring plays seem interesting, making good points about the subtext and how it’s applicable to a millennial mindset, and-

Okay fine, she just wanted to kiss Kaia.

For all the flirting they’d done, they hadn’t really gotten around to the main event yet. It wasn’t as if either of them were particularly skilled in this area and, alright, maybe she was just a bit gun shy. Kaia was the first girl she’d ever actually wanted to pursue a relationship with, and it was hard to really get a sense of who should make the first move.

But she’d found a productions of the play on YouTube the other night and skipped to the end and - oh boy, was she ever excited she’d selected the character Benedict because she really liked the breakfast food. And that Kaia chose Beatrice because she loved Bea Arthur and the Golden Girls.

Sam took a few beats to figure out what they were doing, but after a minute started to actually get _into_ it. He looked around earnestly at the three women standing before him and said “Which is the lady I must seize upon?”

Kaia, Miss Rowena, and Alex had covered their heads with handkerchiefs. Miss Rowena stepped forward. Jack leaned forward, nodding towards her. “The same is she, and I do give you her.”

Sam smiled, his hand outstretched. “Why then, she’s mine. Sweet, let me see your face.”

(Okay, Jack’s dad or not, the dude was _stupid_ charming.)

Beneath her handkerchief, Miss Rowena giggled. With a sort of awkward grace, Patience stepped in between the two of them and hardened her expression before saying. “No! That you shall not, till you take her hand before this friar and swear to marry her!”

Sam frowned, ducking his head as if to catch Miss Rowena’s eye. “Give me your hand before this holy friar. I am your husband,” his voice fell to a husky range. “If you like of me.”

Miss Rowena took the delicate edge of the handkerchief and hitched it up slightly so that she could peer at Patience. “Shoo!” she whispered, and Patience, wide eyed, bolted from between them. Miss Rowena cleared her throat, putting the handkerchief back into place. “And when I lived, I was your other wife.” She threw the cloth from her face dramatically, revealing a dazzling smile. “And when you loved, you were my other husband.”

Sam’s grin widely, faking astonishment. “Another Hero!”

Rowena make a tsk sound. “Nothing certainer. One Hero died defiled, but I do live and as surely as I live,” she peered up at him though her lashes, the hint of a smirk on her red lips. “ _I am a maid_.”

Claire was pretty certain Shakesperhere hadn’t intended for that line to be dripping with innuendo. But if she’d learned anything about the Bard so far, it was that practically any of his prose could be about sex.

The play continued, but Claire hardly paid attention until they were nearly at her favorite part. When the time came, she stepped forward and said, “Soft and fair, friar. Which is Beatrice?”

Kaia pulled the handkerchief from her face far less dramatically, letting it slowly travel across her soft, black hair. Underneath, her dark eyes were piercing. “I answer to that name. What is your will?”

Claire bit the inside of her lip to keep herself from blurting exactly what her will is. Taking a deep breath, she asked, “Do you not love me?”

Kaia laughed, full from her belly, and it was as much joyous as it was a little mocking. “Why no,” she replied, flitting her free hand about carelessly. “No more than reason.”

“Why then, your uncle and the prince and Claudio have been deceived. They swore you did.”

“Do you love me?”

The question held delicately in the air. For a moment, Claire considered breaking character and whispering, “Yes”. But then she remembered that she was surrounded by assholes and that a confession like that probably should come after you’ve gone on at least one date.

Didn’t make it any less true.“Troth, no,” she replied, the lie slipping easy past her lips. “No more than reason.”

Kaia rolled her eyes. “Why then, my cousin Margaret and Ursula are much deceived, for they did swear you did.”

“They swore that you were almost sick for me.”

“They swore you were well-nigh dead for me.”

“Tis no such matter,” Clare flipped her hair from her shoulder, then zeroed in on Kaia. “Then you do not love me?”

Kaia’s lips drew to a bigger smile. “No, truly but in friendly recompense.”

“Come cousin,” Jack nodded towards Kaia. “I am sure you love the gentleman, er, woman.”

“And I’ll be sworn upon’t that he loves her!” Sam declared and wow, was he getting into this. “For here’s a paper written in his, er, _her_ hand! A halting sonnet of her own pure brain, fashioned to Beatrice!”

Miss Rowena stepped beside Sam, casting another smile at him before saying “And here’s another, writ in my cousins hand, stolen from her pocket, containing her affection unto Benedict.”

It was all a bit silly without the actual paper and costumes but Claire could feel her heart begin to speed up. She still hadn’t actually decided if she was going to go for it, and now that the moment was close, she could feel her resolve wavering. “A miracle!” she said, a hair too enthusiastically. “Here’s our own hands against our hearts. Come - I will have thee.” She rolled her eyes, sighing with a huge grin. “But, by this light, I take thee for pity.”

Kaia giggled, looking very much like she was actually enjoying the ridiculous nature of this moment. “I would not deny you. But by this good day, I yield upon great persuasion - and partly to save your life, for I heard you were in a consumption.”

Claire could hear nothing but the blood rushing past her ears. It was now or never. “Peace…” she said, a little breathless. “I will stop your mouth.”

The world tilted on its axis and no one moved, no one made a noise. In fact, there was no one in the entire room but Kaia, beautiful and dark like an endless summer night. And then Kaia surged forward before Claire could do anything, capturing her lips in the softest kiss. Just a quick meeting of their lips, a chase introduction, but it was enough to suck the air from Claire’s lungs. She blinked as Kaia pulled away, warmth and mirth in her eyes.  

And then the world came rushing back as the play continued on like nothing had ever happened.

Except for the smirk that wouldn’t leave Kaia’s lips. It was a new one, an invitation, and Claire couldn’t keep her eyes off of it the rest of class.

Alright, so she’d moved on from the lips. Now she was focused on Kaia’s nose. It was actually a study in softness - a cute button nose, with errant freckles splashed across the peak of it, as if she wasn’t adorable enough. Claire liked the way it squished a little up at the sides when she smiled genuinely. She wanted to trace her finger along those happy lines.

“You guys gonna do that the rest of the day?” Alex interrupted, turning around as they exited the double doors to Miss Rowena’s class. Claire frowned, but Kaia turned away with a blush. So what if they were staring at each other instead of where they were walking? She knew these hallways by heart anyway.

“Claire,” Jack started from her left and she had to admit, for a moment, she’d forgotten he was there. She finally pulled her gaze from Kaia to her friend, whose lips pursed as if in thought. “You know, your Uncle is coming over tomorrow. Did you want me to set fire to my house as well?”

“Jack, the whole point of the initial arsen was just to get them talking.” She rolled her eyes, adjusting her backpack across her shoulders. “If Uncle Cas is coming over, wouldn’t you say ‘Mission Accomplished’?”

“But they still hate each other…”

Claire nudged her elbow into Jack’s side. “That’s not what it looked like to me. Dean was giving Uncle Cas _major_ heart eyes. Did I mention he answered the door in his towel!?”

“Hold up - your Uncle was in a towel and nothing else?” Patience turned around, walking backwards ahead of them. Claire nodded, and Patience sighed softly, her hands coming up to place on her heart. “That is so romantic!”

“Romantic? It’s hot as hell is what it is,” Alex barked, and grabbed her backpack. She took it off one shoulder and started rooting through the back, looking for her keys. They’d reached the parking lot by then, and it was only about half full, most of the students having made a hastier exit than they by the time the bell rang. They’d stuck around a bit longer to help Miss Rowena and Sam put the tables and chairs away after class.

Alright, mostly because Sam and Miss Rowena were absolutely adorable to watch as they shyly worked around one another. She’s pretty sure they were about to exchange numbers when they finally excused themselves. She’ll have to get the dirt from Jack later.

“Okay so, first of all - gross. That’s my Uncle you’re perving on, Alex.” Claire said, holding up her hand to count. “Secondly, that was only part of the plan. Jack, you’re really going to need to make sure they-”

But Jack wasn’t next to her anymore.

She stopped abruptly, turning back to see Jack, stock still about twenty feet behind her. He wasn’t looking at the rest of the group. His head was turned sharply to his left, towards the front of the parking lot. But what made Claire practically run back to his side was his expression. Some might say shock, with the way his eyes widened and his mouth went slack, but she knew Jack.

And Jack was terrified.

“What is it?” She was at his side in an instant, her heart beginning to beat faster. She looked to Jack and then followed his gaze to the parking lot, but nothing at all was out of the ordinary. A few cars, a tree or two swaying with the breeze, and beyond that a busy, but normal looking street. “Jack.”

“It’s - uh,” he started, stopped, then started again, his voice low as if he was afraid someone would hear. “Claire, it’s my dad. My _bio_ dad.”

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

One night, a few months ago, when Claire and Jack had stuck off to do some stargazing during a meteor shower, he’d confessed all he really knew about his biological father. Mostly that he’d been a real asshat to Kelly, Jack’s mom. That he’d bounced like the rat fink he was as soon as he found out she was pregnant. And when Sam had reached out to him to invite him to Jack’s first birthday, he’d been told something that Sam said he’d would never repeat to Jack - but it couldn’t have been good, because they never tried again. Even his name, Lucifer, made a shiver run up Claire’s spine. This dude was no good.

And yet, as Claire followed Jack’s gaze, she could see here he was, sitting in a Mercedes at their school, as if he knew right when he’d be getting out. Claire could see it now - the slight resemblance. Mostly their noses and the same light shade of their hair. But he had nothing of Jack’s eagar, open features. He was all harsh lines, eyebrows, and beady eyes.

And then he got out of the car.

Claire’s arm was on Jack’s at once. “Let’s get out of here. Now.”

“No.” Jack stood firm, his eyebrows narrowed. “He won’t try anything here. And if I don’t talk to him now, he’ll end up at the house. I don’t want him to upset Sam or Dean.”

Oh crap, Sam! Sam was still in Miss Rowena’s room, just a few short minutes behind them. Surely he’d be on his way out in a moment…

But it seemed to be entirely too late for that, as now Lucifer approached, and suddenly he was there in the flesh, wearing jeans and a tan shirt and the worst kind of condescending smirk. Claire found herself wanting less and less for Sam to come get them out of this mess, just so she could get them out of it herself. She balled up her fists, squared her shoulders, and looked him dead in the eye.

“Hey Jack, it’s been a long time,” Lucifer started, his tone irritatingly light.

“When have you ever even seen him?” Claire barked before Jack could even open his mouth, her adrenaline beginning to spike. “Get out of here, asshole.”

Lucifer turned his head slowly, regarding her for a moment while he chewed a lip. “I see you’ve made some friends. Can’t say that you have the best taste, but hey, she looks pretty feisty, and you’re young and spry - now is the time to try all sorts of women-”

“What do you want?”

Jack’s tone made Claire’s blood run cold, but she steeled her face into a mask of hardness. This close up, she could see another similarity - the blue of Lucifer's eyes. It was the same shade of Jack’s, pale and light. Somehow on Lucifer it was menacing and empty.

“I want you, Jacky boy. I want to get to know my son,” Lucifer said, quite simply. “Sam and Dean have kept you from me for years, and I think it's about time they let you get to know your real father.”

Jack was silent, his lips pinched and brow furrowed. The others had gotten closer now and were flanking them, making Claire feel a bit more steady before she finally spoke. “Get the fuck out of here,” she growled. “Or I'm gonna call the cops.”

“Claire…” Jack started, but Claire shook her head. She wasn't about to let him leave here with that asshat, no matter how much she had to make a scene.

Lucifer was unphased. “This is public property, little miss,” he said, his long arm gesturing around them. “I have just as much a right to be here as you, given that I'm the parent of one of their students.”

“I'll tell them you're harassing us,” Claire replied.

“You _are_ harassing us,” Alex piped up.

Lucifer’s eyes darted from one of them to the next, but finally landed on Jack. He looked like he could hardly be bothered, and sighed dramatically. “Friends like these, eh Jack?” he said with a resigned smirk. “Hey I get it man, I would be mad too. But it’s Sam and Dean you should be mad at, not me. I’ve been trying to see you for years, and they wouldn’t let me.”

Jack’s problem has always been that he’s got very little in the way of a poker face. He breaks slightly then, concern and suspicion drawing his eyebrows together, for a moment considering Lucifer’s words. But he’s also a stubborn little shit and loyal to his core, so Claire wasn’t the least bit surprised when he said, “I don’t believe you, and I want you to leave. Now.”

Lucifer’s surprised though. “Jack, you haven’t even heard my side-”

“He’s not interested,” Claire interrupted. “Leave before I make a scene. I mean it.”

It was so disarming the way Lucifer shrugged, unphased by their threats and more irritated than anything else. But he began to walk away, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Look Jack, I’m around, alright? Just think about it.”

Beside him, Claire reached out and put her arm around Jack’s waist. He was trembling, and she gripped him tighter as they stood silently and watched Lucifer get into his dumb expensive car and drive away. Another silent moment passed, and Alex, Patience and Kaia joined the two of them in a group hug.

“You okay, Jack?” Kaia asked, pulling away. Jack nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“I am going to go get Sam,” Patience said, rubbing his bicep before starting to walk away. “I’ll be right-”

“No!” Jack yelped, sounding for a moment like someone had just punched him in the gut. “Not Sam. No. Please Patience, come back here. Don’t.”

“Jack, you know how I feel about parents,” Claire started, and he looked down at her with weary eyes. “But Sam should know about this. Dean too.”

“I can’t - I can’t do that to them,” he said. “Claire, they’ve worked so hard to keep me safe. This would devastate them. I won’t let them worry about him. Promise me,” he looked up, meeting each of the girls directly in their eyes. “Guys, please promise me you won’t say anything. I’ll tell Sam and Dean if it becomes a problem but for now-”

“We promise, Jack,” Kaia said, and then rest of them nodded. “We won’t tell if you don’t want us to.”

Claire leaned her head against Jack’s shoulder, keeping her arm around his waist. He hadn’t stopped trembling. Her gut instinct was practically screaming at her to run to her uncle and tell him everything. But she wouldn’t betray Jack’s trust. Not for anything.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean squirmed, pulling his henley down for the third time. It kept riding up as he sat at the kitchen table, bent over his cereal. From across the way, Jack narrowed his eyes at him. He caught him just as he looked up, milk dribbling a bit down his chin. “Dean - is there something wrong with your clothing?”

“No,” he murmured, avoiding Sam’s eye as he sat beside him. Sam scoffed.

“There’s nothing wrong with his clothes, Jack. That’s his ‘I’m trying to impress someone hot’ shirt.” Sam rolled his eyes, digging into his quiche or whatever the heck he’d cooked up this morning and not made him any of. There was a lot more green than meat, and it just looked disgusting. God, how are they even related?

“It’s a work shirt,” he insisted, but ah, who is he kidding anyway? He hasn’t worn this shirt in at least five years - he’d found it stashed in the back of his drawer from disuse. This was always his go-to look when he was trying to get laid and he’s not even sure why he’s busting it out now, of all times.

Yes he does. So shoot him - he’s absolutely trying to impress the shit out of Mr. Answers the Door Looking like an Olympic Swimmer in Only a Towel. An image he’s been completely unsuccessful in scrubbing from his mind for the last week. It was like a gif running in a constant loop throughout his thoughts all day long. Saving a kitten from a tree? Also thinking about the water droplets on Castiel’s shoulder. Rushing to a kitchen fire downtown? Also thinking about that teeny, tiny, obnoxious freckle above his right nipple. Rewrapping the fire hose? Well - okay that one sorta speaks for itself.

Anyway, now here it was, Saturday already, and he’s just damn flustered. For so many reasons - the sexual bit was obvious. What wasn’t so obvious, was how those few minutes he spent with Castiel last week sort of changed his opinion of the guy. Sure, he was obnoxiously defensive of Claire, but after all, Dean was pretty protective of Jack too. He had to admit, he might have a bit of a blind spot when it came to the kid, and he certainly isn’t perfect.

And then there was Castiel. He was everything Dean hadn’t really expected. Worldly and complex, and there was a depth there that drew him in. He wanted to know him, wanted to hear stories of where he’s been. For the first time in a long time, Dean felt the pull of someone’s personal center of gravity and he sorta wanted to just leap to see what would happen.

Not that it was entirely smart. There’s a reason he’d been avoiding dating, especially as Jack got older. Quite frankly, that kid had been through enough. Dean knew first hand what the loss of a parent did to your heart.

See, Sam and Dean had lost their parents many years ago. Sam was quite frankly too young to remember but Dean had at least some recollection. Mary and John Winchester had been, in Bobby’s words, “Mr and Mrs Indiana Jones”, though Dean’s pretty certain it wasn’t as heroic as all that. They had met when studying religion and archaeology in college, and while they both had decided to retire from going out on digs, “one last trip” turned into their actual last. Dean could still remember their funeral, the irritatingly sympathetic faces of the family members that disappeared into the mist the moment the prospect of taking care of two young boys was suggested. Not that Bobby would have let them go to anyone else anyway.

They’d had a good life - hard at times, as they never had much money - but good, solid, stable. When Dean was fifteen he met this blond spitfire named Kelly. She was trouble, but the best kind, really. The kind that keeps you up at night, and leaves you with a great story the next day. They were never anything as simple as a couple - both of them were too wild of spirits to be contained. One night, when the moon was so bright it felt like daylight, and the day’s worth of heat hadn’t eased up, they lost their virginity to each other in the back of Dean’s Impala. It was fumbling and awkward and hilarious. And afterwards, over California burritos at a 24 hour drive through Mexican joint, they agreed that while the overall experience seemed fine, it was mostly sticky and they would rather not do it again with one another. And they never did.

Though that never really stopped Kelly from finding another partner to spar with. Some of them Sam and Dean got along with and some they really didn’t. She started dating this asshole named Lucifer just after high school. They’d only been together a few weeks before she got pregnant. And it was approximately a day after she told him that he skipped town, never to be heard from again. Dean and Sam weren’t exactly sorry to see him go, but hated the way Kelly let the weight of the world sit on her shoulders. So, even as young as they were, they stepped in. Picture for a moment, a fourteen year old Sam, all gangly limbs and fresh faced, sitting beside Kelly in lamaze class. They certainly got their share of stares, but they weren’t about to let their friend go through this stuff alone.

And slowly, Kelly blossomed as a pregnant woman. She was so happy with that baby, cradling her belly, softly caressing it as they sat together watching a movie. She would talk to her son, who she very early on named Jack, retelling her favorite movies out loud to him as if they were bedtime stories. When the time came for her to give birth, something just went wrong. Dean was told later it was a fluke, but Kelly wouldn’t stop bleeding. Somewhere, in the darkest parts of his mind, he’s stashed the memory of her broken body, pale as a sheet, with barely enough strength to cradle the baby they wrapped in her arms, smiling down at Jack as she wasted away. She looked like an angel.

In the worst ever instance of history repeating itself, there was no question where baby Jack would end up. Only - Dean was nineteen, Sam was sixteen, and Bobby, in his own words, “was almost done with raising boys, dammit”. But they made it work. Bobby and Sam took care of Jack while Dean trained to be a firefighter out of high school. Bobby and Dean took care of Jack while Sam went to school to become a vet tech. Then Sam, Dean and Jack took care of Bobby after he’d been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis about ten years back. The disease had been progressing very slowly (thankfully) but he’d more recently transitioned into the wheelchair. And while the house was mostly compatible for it (being single-story and all) the narrow doorways made it so that Bobby had to practically go through them at top speed and perfect aim with his hands in the air.

It was fun at first. Now it was just dangerous for anyone who just so happened to be in his way. And his shins.

A knock at the door startled Dean out of his thoughts, and he dropped his spoon into his cereal suddenly. It splashed milk all over the table, and Dean cursed.

“Off to a great start,” Sam murmured with a smirk.

“Shut up.”

“I’ll get it!” Jack hopped up from his spot at the table with significantly more grace. Grabbing some paper towels, Dean opened his mouth to stop him. After all, the entire reason they hated each other in the first place was over their kids, so he didn’t want to antagonize the guy when he was coming over to help.

On the other hand, Jack was part of the Dean package. If he was shitty to Jack’s face, this was going to be over before it even started. And Dean had made an effort last weekend to actually be cordial with Claire. Though he still wasn’t sure about her intentions, he had to admit, she was a pretty funny little shit.

He tossed the soggy napkins into the trash as he heard Jack enthusiastically greet Castiel at the door. “Hi Cas!” he said. “Claire has told me a lot about you!”

“Hello Jack,” came the answering voice, sounding like honey flowing over rocks. Damn, he straight up had a sex operator voice, and it would be really annoying if it wasn’t so fucking hot. “Has she? Like what?”

“She told me a lot about the backpacking trip you guys took around Europe last summer,” Jack said as Dean came into the living room. His eyes met with Castiel’s from across the room and dammit, does that guy ever look bad? He was dressed in a faded Stones shirt and beat up jeans, carrying a toolbox. Self consciously, Dean tugged down on his too small henley before reaching out a hand to shake.

“Thank you for coming.” Dean gave a small smile as his handshake was returned, grip strong and sure.

“No problem,” came his answer, and alright, maybe there was still a little bit of tension left about their kids, but it was fading fast. Castiel turned to Jack with a half smile. “That was the first overseas trip I’ve ever taken Claire on. I’m glad she shared that story with you.”

“She also told me about something called a bidet?”

Castiel laughed. “Ah, good, she covered the important parts. Not the castles, but the toilets.”

“He doesn’t look like much of a trouble maker, Dean,” Bobby called from the doorway to the living room. It was one of the spaces that he’d wanted to widen to make it easier for him to pass through. For now though, he stayed on the other side of it, almost like it was blocking him from passing. Bobby nodded towards Castiel. “Looks downright respectable with a toolbox.”

Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Bobby, I didn’t say Cas was the trouble maker. His daughter, Claire, is.” The words were out of his mouth before he fully comprehended just what an incredibly awkward situation he’d just created.

Castiel shifted his stance, obviously preparing to say something, but Jack was actually the first to speak up. He squared his shoulders, crossed his arms, and looked at Dean dead in the face. “Claire is my best friend, and she’s wonderful, Dean. You’ll see that, someday. I have faith.”

Castiel turned to Jack incredulously. For a moment, he just sorta gaped at the kid, before finally finding his voice. “That’s, uh. Thank you, Jack.”

Jack smiled back so big it pinched his nose. “I have to go work on my homework now. Thank you for coming by Mr. Novak.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he replied, waving a little distractedly at Jack as he left the room, like he still couldn’t quite believe his eyes.

“Hey, uh, I’m sorry - I didn’t mean that how it sounded-” Dean started, shoving his hands in his pockets, but Castiel stopped him with a small smile. He was standing closer now, almost right at his side, and something about him radiates warmth.

“Of course you did. You’re not wrong, really. She is a troublemaker, but she’s also a smart kid.” he said. There was something so open and vulnerable in his eyes, like he was extending an olive branch. Maybe he was. Maybe this was salvageable.

“She is sort of hilarious,” Dean admitted. “And Jack, he’s a good kid but he can be a little oblivious. He ain’t exactly perfect either. But he’s mine.”

“And mine!” Sam came into the room with a smile. He stuck out a hand for Castiel to shake, introducing himself. “I’m Sam. I’m Dean’s brother, and Jack’s other Dad.”

Castiel smirked. “It’s nice to meet you. You guys must have run into some trouble with that. Kid with two Dads usually means a relationship, and you two clearly are not in one.”

“Well, no, but he needed two Dads. And an uncle,” Dean nodded towards Bobby, who maintained his distance in the doorway but gave a little wave. “There’s been a few perverts along the way, but it’s worth it so that Jack feels like he has two people he can call his folks.”

“I understand,” Castiel said, and it really felt like he did. He glanced back over at Bobby. “Well, I can see from your proximity that this is a more immediate problem than Dean alluded to. Shall we get started?”

“Nah, I think they enjoy confining me to one part of the house. At least the two big ones do.” Bobby said as Cas walked over, extending a hand to shake. “The little one,” he jerked a thumb towards Jack’s room, “Is my partner in crime.”

“Oh I see,” Castiel said, raising his eyes and having a look at the door frame. Sam and Bobby excused themselves while Castiel worked - running his fingers over the door jam, giving the space around it tiny knocks. His attention to detail was actually quite remarkable, and Dean found himself standing back and just watching, a little mesmerized by the whole event. Castiel’s face changed when he concentrated, his eyebrows drawn together. Sometimes he’d pull his lips tight, other times he’d chew on the bottom one, but you could almost see the gears just behind his eyes as he worked.

“I think I can safely say this doorway here is load bearing,” he finally said, patting the side of the white painted wood.

“That doesn’t sound like an easy fix.”

Castiel frowned. “It’s not. Basically, we’re going to have to take out a good chunk of this wall right to the next stud, and put in another, then reframe the door.”

Dean nodded, silently totaling the man hours that would take in his head. Between his and Sam’s jobs, they make a decent amount of money. But this was an expense they weren’t exactly anticipating, so he may have to move some things around. “Okay, cool. We’ll if you know of a place that could do that-”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it,” Castiel interrupted, flashing him a confused look. “It’s just probably a day-long project in itself. Gotta make sure we reinforce the truss first, then we can do the work.”

“I couldn’t ask-”

Castiel shook his head, a smile gracing his lips. “I’m not doing it for you, Dean. We’re enemies. I’m doing it for Bobby, because he complimented me upon our first meeting.” He paused, and then added as an aside, “Unlike some people.”

“Hey! No fair! You were just as fired up as I was!” Dean laughed, crossing his arms. “Anyway,” he smirked. “So what I’m hearing here is that you need a load-bearing stud.”

Castiel's eyes flash darkly. “That’s exactly what you’re hearing.”

And thats - wow. Dean swallowed, feeling a heat flush his cheeks. It has been a minute since he was with another man, but even when he was, none of them had quite the gravitas that Castiel has behind him. It’s almost unworldly, like Dean feels small next to him, despite him being the taller of the two. And having broader shoulders. But he likes it. He really, really likes it. He sorta enjoys starting the dance, and then watching as Castiel takes the lead.

“You wanna see the rest of the house?” Dean said with a grin, purposefully avoiding Castiel’s come on.

“I’d like that.”

Turns out, that doorway from the living room into the hallway was the only one that needed any additional work done to it. The rest, which included Bobby’s bedroom, and the adjoining master bathroom, were going to be easy fixes. Cas was able to measure them out and tell Dean exactly what he needed to purchase to make the fix.

“I can come over next weekend, if you’d like,” Castiel said, as he lifted his arms above his head to measure the width of the frame. His faded shirt rode up a little, and Dean could see the sharp hip bone cutting out from the top of his jeans. He tried to ignore how it made him salivate.

“It still feels like I’m taking advantage of you,” Dean commented, then smirks. “I mean, uh…”

Castiel doesn’t miss a beat. “Well, not yet.”

Dean just sorta gaped at Castiel as he turned back to his work. He was in trouble. Serious trouble.


	7. Chapter 7

Jack’s never been very good at sleeping, so when he does wake up, it was often jarring. That’s why they decided to invest in a cat for him four years ago. The hope was that with some bit of fuzzy framilarity at first light, he could ease himself into consciousness, instead of feeling like a zombie until he’d had a bit of human interaction.

There was some logic behind it. Getting Nougat had helped him sleep and wake better, at least. But he also thought Bobby had been jonesing for a cat for as long as he could remember and was too stubborn to admit it. As a result, Nougat spent most of her furry nights with Jack, and during the day, found herself in the constant warmth of Bobby’s lap. It was a real hard life.

He comes into consciousness slowly, his hand already seeking out to find the lump tangled in sheets and curled up at his hip. As soon as fingers hit fur, the motor revs up. Nougat could wake the dead with her purr. He focused on the top of her head first, scritching as he yawned. It was Saturday, and he could hear the light clanging of Sam in the kitchen. He could tell it was Sam, because it was too early to be Dean - which also meant there will be no pancakes and bacon. Sam’s probably whipping up an egg white omelette with a side salad. Ew.

He pointed his toes as he stretched, and beside him Nougat did the same. She positioned herself as he settles back down, her head resting firmly on his hip. He looked down to see her yellow eyes peeking out from her black and orange fur, squinting as if to say, “Don’t you dare move.”

Smirking, he used his non-petting hand to reach for his phone for the time. It’s just before nine, and he has to be at St John’s for pickup for his volunteer shift at ten-thirty. “Okay Nougat, I’ll stay a bit longer.” She nuzzled into his hip and gave a chirping meow.

He swiped his phone to check his messages. Just a few from Claire. One way too late last night, reminding him of their volunteer work today. (As if Sam or Dean would let him forget.) And another, right below it.

_It will be fine - if that asshat shows up, I’ll kick him in the nuts._

His stomach flopped. He wasn’t mad at her reminder - after all, she’d been trying to reassure him. But every time he thought about Lucifer since he’d shown up last week, he felt like there was a marathon runner going through his chest with no sign of stopping.

So far, he hadn’t made an attempt to contact Jack again. To his disappointment, that left him feeling rather conflicted. Everything in his guts was screaming not to trust this guy. He’d left his mother in dire straights, never offered to help Sam and Dean, and for all intents and purposes, treated Jack like he’d never existed the bulk of his life. Alex always says a tiger never changes their stripes, and maybe she’s right.

But then there’s that part of him that’s just curious. What if Lucifer has changed? What if he actually wants to be a part of his life with no malicious intent? What if he’s actually a good person?

And he hates it. Because he knows, deep down, that none of those things were true. Lucifer is not good because if he were, he’d have never approached him life that. He would have apologized, and he would have treated his friends better. In his mind, he pictures that bit of curiosity as a ball of clay, perfectly round. And then he pictures an anvil smashing it against the concrete floor.

His phone dinged with an alarm, and outside of his room, Dean calls out, “Jack! Breakfast!” His concerns faded quickly at the thought that pancakes might be a possibility after all.

“I just wish we’d have found her,” Jack lamented, bending at the waist to pick up - wait, what the hell is that?

“Ew, Jack no!” Claire grabbed his shoulder and yanked, pulling him back up and away from the... Is that a dead rodent? A stuffed animal?

Beside them, Sandra, the volunteer coordinator, suddenly appeared, breaking through their horror to poke at whatever the hell it was with her prongs. It shifted heavily but gave no other indication on if it used to be alive or not.

“We don’t have to pick that up, right?” Claire said, her lips curled into a snarl. Jack didn’t even think they _could_ pick it up. It might be too heavy for their trash picker tongs.

“Nah, leave it,” Sandra said, walking past them towards the next group. She called out over her shoulder, “Unless you’re feeling really brave!”

“I’m feeling really stupid,” Jack mumbled under his breath. Claire looped her arm in his and pulled in a direction away from the dead horror mouse rat, up a little ways towards the hill along the highway. This patch of road was unusually quiet for how garbage laden it was, but he supposed that was because no one really used it unless they were going to Petco Park. Which would explain all of the leftover baseball flyers and fast food wrappers lining the street where they walked.

At least it was sunny and perfect. Jack took off a work glove and pushed his hair off of his face. “Like I was saying, Claire, I’m feeling terrible about Regina….”

“The chicken?” she said, fitting some crumpled up flyers into her trash bag. “Why don’t we buy them a new one?”

“Miss Missouri already tried that. They don’t want one.”

“It’s not like it’s our fault, really.”

They’ve argued this point a thousand times. Technically, it isn’t. They’d loaded Miss Regina into her carrying cage and transported her to the quad in the middle of the night. The idea had been that in the morning, as the students arrived, they’d see Regina in her (fairly sizeable) cage and have a laugh. Righetti would know that St Johns is the superior school (because that’s how it goes in the movies) and the teachers would have straightened it out by the end of the day, getting the chicken back into the hands of her beloved owner.

What they hadn’t counted on, was the lock on the cage being faulty. Turns out, Regina was a crafty little thing, and she’d been able to bust out before. A new cage had been on order when they stole her. A week difference, and this wouldn’t have been an issue.

So somewhere, in the middle of the night, Regina the chicken had made her escape - never to be seen again.

“Did we ever find out where Mrs. Anderson had bought her from in the first place?” Jack said. “Maybe Regina just wandered back to there.”

Claire couldn’t help the laugh that slipped out, but she covered it up with a cough, burying her face in her sleeve. “This isn’t Homeward Bound, Jack. Chickens aren’t smart enough to remember where they came from.”

“You don’t know! Maybe Regina was!” he said, setting his picker down hard. “Maybe where we come from has more of an impact than we know!”

He huffed for a moment as Claire turned to him, her eyebrows crinkling. “Jack,” she said slowly, setting down the bag and walking beside him. She laid her hand down on his arm, her finger tips soft on his bare skin. “This isn’t about the chicken, is it?”

He stared into her blue eyes, feeling the sudden onrush of rage dissipate within him like a cloud of smoke. “Maybe not entirely, no.”

“We’ll find Regina,” she said, drawing her lips to a firm line. “And when we do, we will give her back to the woman that raised her. Because it’s not about who created you, its about who has been there to help you form. That is who is important in your life.”

He thought back through his short seventeen years. About the moments where he felt himself level up, so to speak. Learning how to speak. Riding a bike for the first time. Understand how to push himself in the water to keep afloat. How the wheel of a car feels when you’re driving too recklessly. How to mend a broken heart. And all of those moments, Sam and Dean were there, right next to him, encouraging him, building him up, reminding him how loved and precious he was.

And that curiosity popped like a balloon. Deflated in his chest, though not in a way that made him sad. It built his resolve. He was exactly where he was supposed to be with the people that were meant to raise him. With the people his mother would have wanted him to emulate.

“You’re right,” he said, looking down at Claire, a small smirk crossing his lips. He bent and picked up his trash picker and used it to point down the road. “Betcha you can’t find anything grosser than that mouse rat.”

Her eyes lit up. “You’re on!”

She didn’t - mouse rat was by far the grossest thing they found that day. She tried to counter with a used condom, but they both agreed that a potentially rotting corpse was worse than some dried spunk and broken dreams.

He was still trying to figure out how to tell Sam and Dean the story when he got home. There was a sort of shame he felt trying to downplay how funny it was, strictly because it involved Claire. Maybe Dean would be in a better mood about her, since he’d spent the day fixing the doorways with her uncle? He’d been all flustered again this morning, wearing another shirt that didn’t really fit him - this time in the shoulders. Jack didn’t really understand why Dean decided to wear clothing that didn’t fit when Claire’s uncle was around, but he figured he probably shouldn’t give it too much thought for his own sake.

The house was silent as soon as he walked through the door, which should have been enough of an indication that something was wrong. Generally on a Saturday evening there is either loud rock music blaring from the stereo (if Dean’s in charge) or loud video game music coming from the TV (if Sam got to pick). On the rare instance neither of them were home, then it was usually the sounds of an old Western of Bobby’s - gunshots and men hollering above one another.

But none of that greeted him. Just a voice - Sam’s - calling from the kitchen. “Jack, that you?”

“Yeah,” he said, kicking his shoes off and heading in that direction. The inside of the living room looked half finished - lumber and drywall piled to the side, a paint can unopened with a brush laying across it. The doorway to the kitchen looked like someone had bitten a chunk off of it, all jagged and unfinished. And just inside, Bobby, Sam and Dean all sitting around the circular dining room table, their hands on perspiring beers.

“What’s up?” Jack said, taking a seat between Dean and Bobby.

Sam grimaced, pushing his hair back from his head. “Hey buddy, we need to talk…”

“You seen anyone new lately?” Dean barked, turning sharply to meet Jack’s eye. “Anyone you may have forgotten to mention this week?”

His stomach dropped, and he swallowed. “I, uh-”

Dean threw up his hands. “Unbelievable. Sam, I told you that something was up-”

“Oh you are so full of shit, Dean. You didn’t have any idea.”

“Well maybe if you hadn’t been making freakin’ moon eyes at his lady teacher you might have noticed that your son-”

“Me making moon eyes?!” Sam spat, sitting forward. “Have you even seen yourself this week? You can hardly keep it in your pants when you’re around Claire’s uncle-”

“That’s enough!” Bobby yelled, and the room fell silent again. Jack couldn’t keep his eyes off of Sam’s beer bottle and the singular drop as it fell from the top of the curved glass, past the damp paper wrapper, and finally pooled around the bottom. And then another one. With each one, he counted his breath as he steadied his hands against his thighs. He didn’t even realize he was gripping them so tightly they were starting to bruise until Bobby placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Breathe, Jack,” he said calmly. And he did. Looking up at Bobby’s face, he took one breath in, and then another. Slowly he felt the muscles in his shoulders start to loosen, the tightness in his chest begin to ebb. He took a deep breath and then blinked, and saw Bobby smile. “That a boy. Now Jack, when you’re ready, can you please tell us what happened this week.”

The tears were just sort of suddenly there, pooling at the corners of his eyes, and he looked down, ashamed. “Lucifer came to my school. I-I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“What day?” Dean said, his voice lower but still with an edge.

“Dean-” Bobby warned.

“Tuesday,” Jack said. “In the parking lot. I was with my friends.”

“Wait - after your drama class?” Sam asked. “You mean I was freaking there?! And you didn’t tell me?!”

“Sam!” Bobby barked. “Dammit, will you two boys calm down? I didn’t raise you to berate your own son, for god sakes!”

Sam sighed and pushed himself back from the table. “You’re right. Sorry, Jack. Really. It’s just - he’s a dangerous man. I wish you’d have told us.”

“I was hoping he’d go away!” Jack said, feeling his chest tighten again. “I didn’t want him to come here and harass you guys. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you guys to be upset.” He looked down at his hands. There was still dirt under his fingernails from the days work. “I was trying to protect you...”

“Dammit Jack, it’s _our_ job to protect _you_ ,” Dean said, his voice cracking as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him in. “Come here kid.”

He let himself go, burying his face in Dean’s neck. All of the last week’s emotions pooled to the surface and spilled out, tear by tear. The anxiety of seeing Lucifer, the worry that he was going to hurt Sam or Dean or Bobby. The fear that he was making the wrong choice in ignoring him, letting him walk away. The agony of knowing he’ll never have his mother to run to, to check in on him. It all poured out onto Dean’s too-tight black t-shirt.

When he pulled away, he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Bobby slid his beer over in front of Jack. “Take a sip, boy. You’ve earned it.”

“I’m going to get him something better to drink,” Sam said, rolling his eyes and getting up from the table. He rummaged around in the fridge, returning finally with a glass of lemonade. By the time he was done, Jack felt slightly more in control of himself.

“Okay buddy, I know you don’t really want to, but you need to tell us what happened,” Sam said.

“There isn’t much to tell,” Jack started, but dived in anyway. He did make sure to word it so that they knew how much Claire’s being there had helped him. Come to think of it, if she hadn’t have been there backing him up, he might have been tempted to go with him.

The entire time he listened, Dean kept his fists clenched under the table. He probably thought he was hiding them from Jack, but he could see them.

“So how did you find out?” Jack asked, taking a swig of his lemonade. It soothed down his hot throat, and he indulged in a few more sips, feeling his temperature lower. “Did Miss Missouri see him?”

Sam and Dean exchanged looks from under the table, and beside him Bobby cleared his throat. “Jack, “ he said. “Lucifer is suing us for custody of you.”


	8. Chapter 8

It was not especially late, but Castiel was already in bed. Today was... a lot.

First, there had been the anticipation of it all. Over the period of the last week, he and Dean had been exchanging texts that had become - dare he say - progressively more pleasant. All leading up to him making his way over there this morning, just after breakfast, to help him tear some walls down.

And then Dean was wearing that damn shirt.

Tight and black and so, so hot. It hugged the muscles in his shoulders as he swung the sledgehammer, taking down the drywall around the doorway as easy as it were paper. Castiel had busied himself with measuring the lumber to put in the new stud.

“It’s measure twice, cut once, boy,” Bobby said. “Not measure ten times.”

Castiel had blinked, suddenly realizing that he’d been marking the same spot on the wood with his pencil while his eyes had been trained to Dean’s biceps, and well, crap. He was caught.

The rest of the day had continued like that - Dean looking like some kind of sexy lumberjack, a pencil behind his ear and his pants just this side of tight. If Cas didn’t know any better, he’d have guessed that Dean was actually dressed up for him. Maybe he was just reading too much into it.

And anyway, they were getting along great. Their conversation was easy and genuine. He told Dean about a trip he had planned next spring to Cape Town, and Dean filled him in on some of the more hilariously mundane tasks firefighters were expected to do. It was light and sorta perfect, and Castiel felt himself grow more and more at ease with Dean. The issue of their children still sat there between them, but it seemed surmountable, especially given the fact that they were volunteering together that very afternoon.

But their pleasant day ended abruptly with a sharp rapt on the door.

“I’ll get that, you keep nailing.” Dean said, flashing Castiel a smirk that made him weak at the knees. Cas took advantage of his momentary absence, actually taking a moment to dig into the task at hand whilst he wasn’t distracted for once.

Between the sound of the hammer, he could hear Dean answer the door. And after a moment, he didn’t hear anything at all. Curious, he stopped for a moment, taking the nails he’d stuck in his mouth out and leaning slightly towards the direction of the living room. He didn’t hear much, but Dean’s tone was off - harsh and low.

He was on his feet in an instant, something prickling up the side of his neck.

“...actually come here, Lucifer,” Dean said, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ve got some fucking nerve.”

“Would you have rather heard this from my lawyer, Dean?” came the answering voice, causal as if he were asking about the weather. Castiel hesitated at the entrance to the main room, hiding just behind it, cautious of making himself known. He didn’t want to be rude and interrupt something Dean would rather keep private, but it was just the two of them here. Bobby and Sam had left on a grocery run an hour before, and Jack was with Claire volunteering, and something about Dean’s tone made him feel like he shouldn’t be far.

“I’d rather you go back to whatever pit of hell you crawled out of, and stay the fuck away from my son,” Dean growled.

The voice tsked. “Now Dean, you and I both know exactly whose son Jack is. And that ain't your DNA swimming around his blood stream, buddy - it’s mine.”

The hair on Castiel’s neck stood up, and he walked forward into the living room. They both turned at his arrival. Any doubt he may have felt about interrupting them was erased the moment he saw Dean - all hard lines and clenched fists. The easy smile from their time together was gone, replaced with a man who looked ready to fight. But there was something in his eyes, a softness. Relief. He was glad Castiel was here.

The asshole at the door, he assumed Lucifer, raised an eyebrow in his direction. “Still gay, Dean?” Lucifer said. “Or was it bi? I never could keep track of what the kids are calling it these days. Either way, looks like your taste hasn’t improved much.”

“Do you need me to call the police, Dean?” Castiel said, holding Lucifer’s gaze. Belatedly, he realized he was still carrying his hammer, clutched tightly in his right hand. He noticed it was soon as Lucifer did, his beady blue eyes darting at it, then back at Castiel, clearly assessing the change in situation.

“That depends on Lucifer,” Dean said, grip tightening on the door frame. “Are we going to have a problem?”

As if fate itself had timed it, that was the exact moment that Sam’s Prius pulled back into their driveway. Lucifer turned to look back, quickly glancing at the car. “Where’s my son, Dean? I need to speak with him.”

“He’s out,” Dean barked. “And if I hear of you coming near him again without a fucking court order, so help me Lucifer-”

Castiel had walked forward and now stood directly behind Dean. Quietly he reached out his hand, unseen by Lucifer, and set it gently on his lower back as if to say, _I’m here._ It had the desired effect, as Dean’s shoulders dropped a few inches.

“I think I’m done here. Oh, hey Sam,” he called from behind him, as Sam exited the car. He was rushing to get to the front door, a look of fire and fury crossing his face. It was quite a switch from the happy, puppy dog look he sported most of the time, and Castiel made a mental note to never piss of Sam. “Don’t worry, next time you see me, it will be with a court order. Since you refused to even let me have contact with my only son.”

“Get. Out,” Sam said, dark and dangerous.

Lucifer raked his eyes up and down his form, and then turned on his heel, unaffected. “Arrivederci, boys.”

They watched him walk away out to the old Mercedes he had parked in front of their house. As he passed the Prius on the driveway, Castiel wasn’t at all surprised to watch Bobby roll down the passenger side window and curse the man out as he got into his car and sped away. Castiel kept his hand at Dean’s back and felt the muscles there twitch, tense.

There was another beat of silence before Sam finally spoke. “Gimme a second to help Bobby out of the car. Good thing I bought beer.”

Dean turned to Castiel then, his face flushed. It made his freckles stand out more, and it would have been endearing it Cas didn’t know it was just from rage. “I think we’re going to need to take a raincheck on the house.”

“Of course,” Cas said. “I’m just gonna grab my tools, and I’ll be out of your hair.”

He was quick as he gathered them, meeting Dean back at the open door as he watched Sam help Bobby into his chair. But he had that look in his eyes, like he wasn’t really watching what was happening - he was far away, and it made lines appear between his eyes. When Castiel was in front of him again, he seemed to snap out of it. “Thank you,” he said, suddenly sheepish as he looked down. “I’m - I’m sorry you had to see that but I was glad for the backup.”

“I think we could have taken him,” Castiel said, letting his lips turn into the beginning of a grin. Dean joined him, his more sardonic, but at least the mood felt lighter. “Text me if you need anything.”

“Careful, I might actually start to think you’re a nice guy.”

“I mean it Dean,” Castiel said. And then he drove home, wishing he could have stayed.

The phone startles him out of his thoughts, buzzing against the wood of his nightstand. He was quick to grab it, his thoughts drifting to automatically to Claire (as she was staying at Alex’s house for the night) but to his surprise, it was Dean.

_You feel like a beer?_

Castiel cast a glance down at his current attire - sweatpants, threadbare shirt, slippers. His body was still warm from the bath he’d just gotten out of, and he was contemplating making some cookies. He knew Dean probably needed to let off some steam, but maybe he’d choose baked goods over booze.

_I’m actually about to bake some cookies - why don’t you come over here?_

_Cookies and beer don’t mix._

_Cookies and White Russians do_

_….what makes you think I drink that frilly crap?_

_It’s vodka. Besides, the Dude drinks it._

_Pop culture reference - nice_

_Don’t get used to it - Lebowski is one of five movies I’ve seen. So - you’re on your way?_

_See you in 15_

Fifteen minutes is hardly enough time to look presentable, but as he caught himself in the mirror on his way out, it wasn’t a half bad look. Dark grey sweatpants sat low on his hips, his Pink Floyd shirt was so threadbare and stretched you could see his collarbone, his hair was a mess, half wet from the bath, and his skin was rosy.

He threw on that apron from Claire and gathered the ingredients for his favorite cookie recipe. Three cups of flour, an extra teaspoon of vanilla, dark brown sugar. He hummed as he tossed them into his mixer, watching as the scoop combined everything into a delicious lump. There was a knock at the door as he added the chocolate chunks, and because his hands were wrist deep in the mixture he called out, “Come in, it’s open!”

He heard the door open and shut and then nothing at all for several seconds. “Dean?” he called. “I’m in the kitchen!”

“I know,” Dean replied, right behind him. It startled him so much he jumped, cookie dough flying out of his hands and splatting on every nearby surface, including (thankfully) his apron instead of his clothes. He turned suddenly, his hands up as if he was a surgeon who had just washed them before surgery.

“Dean!” Cas said. “You scared me!”

A slow smile crept across his face and dammit, he actually had the audacity to look adorably sheepish. “I shoulda worn a bell,” he said, and then looked at Castiel’s hands. “Don’t let me interrupt progress.”

“I was just mixing in the chips…” Cas said, momentarily distracted by Dean’s proximity. He was - close. Deliciously close. Two day old stubble sat on high cheekbones, and Castiel followed the lines of his nose to be overtaken with too long lashes and so much green. How someone could look so ruggedly handsome and boyish at once - it was almost unfair…

“Cas?” Dean said, flashing more of his smile. His tongue peeked out between his teeth. “You need help cleaning up this mess?”

“Mess?” Castiel repeated, then remembered, oh yeah, he’d just spilled a third of the cookie dough across his kitchen. “Oh, uh…”

“I think I know where to start…” Dean said. He met Castiel’s gaze, watching attentively as if he might make a sudden movement. A meteor could have struck the house and Castiel wouldn’t have done anything but watched, transfixed, as Dean grabbed his wrist delicately, eyed Castiel’s index finger, and put it in his mouth.

Castiel’s higher brain function short circuited as Dean swiped his tongue across the digit, sucking lightly. “Mmm,” he said, pulling off slowly. “Delicious.”

Castiel made a very important decision in that moment: first impressions suck.

And just like in that parking lot after the first time they met, Cas pushed Dean backwards, and hard. His lower back collided with the kitchen island and he groaned, but looked anything but pained. On the contrary, Dean’s face was lit up with a cheshire grin. Not that Cas was paying all that much attention. He leaned down, grabbed Dean under his thighs and hoisted him up with little effort onto the island.

“Oh fuck-” Dean started to say, before Castiel grabbed his face and pushed their lips together. Dean tasted a little like sugar and Castiel chased it, licking along his plump bottom lip. There are some people that you kiss and while it may be warm and pleasant, that’s all it is. This isn’t that. There’s an electrical current between them - a live wire, snapping, biting, gripping, grinding. Dean grabbed Castiel’s hair at his nape and tugged, and Cas went with it, feeling the pain pleasure all the way down to the soles of his feet.

“I like your apron,” Dean murmured, keeping one hand in his hair, and let the other one travel down his chest.

“Claire - she made it…” Words are hard when you’re so turned on you feel like your skin is on fire.

Dean paused, his hand stretched over a pec. “Is she home?” he asks, breathless.

“No,” Cas gasps. “Alex. She’s at Alex’s.”

“Thank God…” Dean reached down and pulled Castiel even closer, and shit, these sweatpants are doing absolutely nothing to hide that he was at full mast and ready to sail.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean growled, his hands getting tighter. “I know we should hate each other and everything but…”

“I don’t hate you, Dean,” Castiel breathed, pulling back. He stopped for a moment and could feel Dean’s heart racing as he reached up to cup his face. “I’m actually starting to like you, much to my suprise.”

Dean smirked. “Yea?”

“Yea.”

He watched Dean, only now he’s actually paying attention to the details of his face. His eyes were red in the corners, and the skin around them seemed slightly puffy, like he’d been crying. And all at once the events of the day come crashing back and fuck, maybe this is too much for today. “Dean,” Cas said. “If you want to have cookies and talk about how hard it is to parent a child you didn’t create, I can help you down, and we can do that. But if you want something else…”

“If I did, it would be a pretty terrible decision. Being that we’re trying to keep our kids apart and all...” Dean didn’t move away though, but leaned in closer, taking a deep breath. He let his nose nuzzle lightly against Castiel’s cheek, drifting from the lines of his smile to the top of his cheekbone. It was so intimate, Castiel felt like he might burst right there.

“Yes it would….” Castiel’s eyes drifted closed, just feeling the softness of Dean’s lips scale down the bolt of his chin, to pause where his jugular reflected the insistent pounding of his heart. God he wanted Dean - his entire body thrummed with it. The heat rushed to his skin, and his fingers dug deeper into Dean’s flesh.

“I’ve spent my whole life making good decisions. Not ever putting my needs first. What I wanted. What I fucking _needed_...” Dean whispered to the hollow of his throat. “You haven’t gotten what you need in a long time either, have you Cas?”

Castiel moaned gently as those lips finally met his heated flesh, suckling at the apex of his throat. It went straight to his dick and quite suddenly he had better places for those lips. He gripped the top of Dean’s head, threading his dirty blond hair through his fingertips before tugging Dean up and back. He eyed those perfectly plump pink lips, and grinned.

“I really wanna make a bad one. Don’t you?”

“God yes,” Cas mumbed, pulling him in again. Dean was quick and precise and then suddenly the apron came loose, and fell from around his neck.

“I like it, but I think I will like this better.” Dean pulled at the hem of Castiel’s shirt, nearly tearing it before tossing that to the ground as well. “Yeah - yep,” he said, running his hands down Castiel’s chest. Cas doesn’t make it a habit to really think about how he looks, but right now, under Dean’s hungry gaze, he blossoms. He took a deep breath and rid Dean of his shirt as well.

“Should we take this elsewhere?” Dean asked, biting his bottom lip. “I have a feeling this might get too messy for the kitchen.”

Cas leaned forward, pressing his lips against Dean’s ear. This close, he can feel the heat coming off of his chest. “I want to take you apart, Dean Winchester. Piece by piece. And then when I’m done, I’ll fuck you into the mattress. Is that amenable?”

Dean didn’t so much answer as wimper, his whole body shaking. Cas bit his earlobe and then pulled away, immediately missing the smell of him. He led him by the hand up the stairs, two at a time and practically pushed him into the room. Dean’s body slammed up against the side of his bed and he stumbled a little, nearly falling over.

“Shit - you okay?” Cas said, lust gone in a flash with concern.

Dean’s grin nearly overtakes his face. “I like being pushed around a little, Cas - at least in bed. Not so much in schoolyard parking lots.”

“Can we never speak of that again?” Castiel groaned, turning to lock the door behind him.

“Agreed,” Dean said, then nodded towards Castiel. “Now, get over here and take off your pants.”

“You’re pretty bossy,” he said, and then Castiel stopped, his hands posed above his waistband, as he took in the sight of Dean. He sat on the edge of Castiel’s bed, shirtless, the top button open on his fly and his hair sticking up every which way. For all purposes, he looks very disheveled and ready for something hot and fast but - that’s not actually what Cas wants, is it?

“Dean,” he stopped, moving forward to crowd the space between his legs. Dean let him in, wordlessly watching him, suddenly silent. His lips drew in, and he blinks at Castiel, looking much less hot and cocky - now more human. “If this is too fast….”

“I think…” Dean’s hands reached out, gripping Castiel’s hips and pulling him closer. He spread his hands outward, fingertips brushing against his skin, and he stared straight forward, as if contemplating Castiel’s navel. Then he leaned forward on a sigh and pressed his forehead against his stomach. “I need to be out of my head. I think you’re the only one that really gets that.”

Castiel sighed, too, threading his hands through Dean’s hair gently. “Okay,” he said. “I can do that.”

They stood together for a moment, just breathing each other in. Dean’s breath was hot against Castiel’s belly, and Castiel closed his eyes, just concentrating on the feeling of being close. It had been so long since he’d let himself just be with another human like this, and even though nothing about the two of them seemed to make sense, it was all sort of falling together, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Dean irritated him and calmed him in equal parts, but most importantly, he made him feel so much he thought he could burst with it.

He leaned down gently, taking Dean’s head in his hands and pulling it back. His eyes were still red, but bright green and desperate, and they looked up at Castiel like he might hold within him the solution to every problem he has. Castiel can’t fix anything, not really. But he can do this.

Dean swallowed as Castiel kissed him gently, pulling his plush lips between his own. He wanted Dean to feel worshiped, to feel safe. So he held him and kissed him like he was precious, because, Castiel was starting to realize, Dean really was to him. Today, in those moments with Lucifer, he’d been genuinely afraid for the man. And afterward he’d ached, knowing the sort of pain he’d feel if there was a chance he’d lose Claire. Dean moaned into his touch, his hands reaching around to cup his ass and draw him closer. Suddenly, he broke it off with a wet gasp and leaned forward again, pressing hot kisses along his hip bones.

The waistband on his sweatpants was tugged, and he looked down to where Dean was looking back up at him, green eyes pleading. The man looked absolutely desperate to get Castiel’s pants off and if he were any younger, that might have set him off right there. Instead, he nods sharply with an intake of breath, and Dean pushes them down his hips.

“Going commando?” he remarked with a grin, as Castiel’s half full erection bounced out to meet him. “Lucky me.”

“I just took a bath,” he replied, his hands reaching around to scratch at the back of Dean’s neck. He hummed into his touch and stretched like a cat. Damn, he was so responsive. It was intoxicating.

“All that work, just to get dirty again...” Dean leaned forward, nosing a bit at his erection as it continued to grow moment by moment under his heated gaze.

“Worth it.”

“May I?”

Castiel bit his lip as he nodded.

Dean circled him in wet heat and he nearly bucked forward with it. _Holy shit,_ his mouth was obscene, stretched around him. Dean took a long sigh of a breath through his nose and then took him to the hilt, engulfing every inch of him. Castiel cried out with it, gripping to the top of his shoulders tightly before Dean pulled back and replaced his mouth with his hand, jacking him off steadily. He shot Castiel a cocky grin.

“Been a minute since I’ve done that,” he said. “Forgot how good it feels.”

“Me too,” Castiel was breathless. “Please do it again. Please.”

“I wanna hear you, Cas,” he leaned forward, licking the underside of his head, and Castiel full body shuddered. “No one is around but us. Make some noise for me.”

“Fuck-” Castiel gasped and tried to stay upright as he was swallowed down again. Everything in his life centered into Dean’s mouth and the way his tongue twisted around his dick over and over. It was sloppy and hot and Castiel only moved to palm his cheek and feel himself within Dean’s mouth. His thumb traced around where plump lips were stretched on him, and he felt them pull back to a grin before diving in again.

He could feel his orgasm build in his spine with each time Dean bobbed his head up and down, the heat pooling and spreading much faster than he would have liked. “Dean!” he yelped, feeling the man swallow around his head. “Dean, I’m gonna-”

“Nope - no you are not.” Dean backed off and gripped the base of Castiel’s cock tightly, staving off his release. He panted and threw his head back, trying to regain control. “I’ve got plans for this dick. Can’t let you come yet.”

“Oh right...” Castiel growled through gritted teeth. His frustration was met with a cocky smile, which only served to heat his flesh to a fever pitch. The fucker knew exactly what he was doing, and damn him - Cas liked it. “Take off your jeans.”

Turns out Dean is surprisingly good at direction when there’s a reward at the end of it for him. He’s naked and sitting up against the headboard almost before Castiel has a chance to retrieve the necessities from his bedside drawer. As he joined him on the bed, he kissed trails up freckled legs, and Dean huffed a laugh as he nosed at the pit of his knee.

“Spread your legs for me, Dean,” Cas said, and Dean’s legs parted. He was absolutely beautiful here in the low light of Castiel’s bedroom (thank goodness for dimmer switches), all of him laid bare for Castiel’s mouth to slowly consume. As he promised, he took his time, biting and sucking across the expanse of Dean’s skin. He let his hands gently brush against where Dean was most sensitive, and each time Dean keened, the need making his body convulse.

“You’re killing me Cas,” he said, his breath lost. “Please.”

It was the please that sped Castiel up, made him switch to grip the skin under his fingertips tighter. Dean needed this, needed him. It was intoxicating.

Lubricated fingers pressed into Dean, and he pulled his legs up against his chest, wanton and moaning. He was already so relaxed, so in control of his own body, this prep was perfunctory. But Castiel couldn’t help indulging himself in the feeling of Dean clenching around him, and he lowered his head to take him into his mouth in tandem.

Dean’s legs came slamming down and his back arched. “Fuck!” He yelled. “Cas, you can’t-”

“I know,” he mumbled, smiling as he kitten licked at Dean’s head. Each stroke and push had Dean shivering. “You’re just so fun to watch.”

“Then hurry up and fuck me already...” Dean growled, reaching down and pulling Castiel’s head towards his own until their lips met again. They kept kissing as Castiel fumbled at his hips, pulling a condom on blind, fishing for and finding the lube, but not willing to break apart.

And then he pressed into Dean, inch by inch, and his world stopped. He broke their kiss with a wet smack and pulled back to watch as Dean’s face goes slack with pleasure. That’s a sight he could get very used to seeing. “Mmmmm, yeah,” Dean cooed as Castiel pushed himself to the hilt. “That’s the stuff.”

“Feel better?” Castiel grunted, his lips pulling into a small smile. Dean’s hand reached up to cup his cheek, thumbing away the stray drops of sweat that had gathered at his temple.

“Getting there.” Dean smirked.

Castiel began to thrust and the rest of the world just fades away to this. All he can feel is the heat of Dean around him, the fever pitch climb of pleasure as their hips collide over and over. Dean’s hands in his hair, on his neck, pulling at him or just hanging on or both. Unfortunately, it’s been way too damn long and this could be the hottest encounter of his life, so Castiel began to feel the pressure building in his spine. So, like a gentleman, he reached between their bodies to seek out Dean’s cock. Its hotter than the oven he’s suddenly remembering he left on downstairs but to his surprise, Dean knocked his hand away.

“No,” he said on a groan. “I - fuck - I wanna come on your cock.”

“Shit that’s hot,” Castiel said, pulling out a bit to stave off his own orgasm. Taking a deep breath, he looked down at Dean. “What do you need?”

“Flip me,” he demanded and Castiel just did it, surprising himself with his own strength. Dean moaned as Castiel thrust back into him, pushing his chest against the bed and pulling his hips up slightly so he could hit just the right angle….

“Fuck!” Castiel smiled as Dean yelped, and he couldn’t help leaning forward to bite the exposed muscle of his shoulder. It was salty and delicious under his tongue. “Come for me Dean,” he whispered into his ear, his voice low and dangerous. “Come on my cock.”

Dean cried out as he came, his face half buried in Castiel’s pillow and sweat dripping from his back. His ass convulsed around Castiel and he came like a shot, pressing his forehead between Dean’s shoulder blades and never wanting to leave.

“Shit...shit….” Dean repeated, not sounding particularly alarmed but rather, completely wrecked. Sounding exactly how Castiel felt as he pulled himself out and away, landing with a grunt to Dean’s left.

This should be the part of the evening where it all comes crashing into Castiel. What they’ve done, how much that could really hurt what they’ve built with their children. Why he’d avoided relationships in the first place. Instead all he could do is focus on the way his heart incrementally slowed and the sweet sound of each breath Dean took beside him.

He rolled over and took in the sight next to him - Dean, now flat against the bed (and likely lying in a progressively cooling wet patch), his face still half pressed into Castiel’s pillow, his eyes (for the moment) lightly closed. Castiel opens his mouth to say something but stops, feeling like between them, their best conversations up to this point have involved mostly touching. So he reached out and trailed a finger along Dean’s hairline and to the shell of his ear.

“Wow,” Dean said, cracking a single green eye open. The corners of it were creased, and he looked much happier than when he’d walked in an hour before.

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

Dean turned on his side as well, grimacing as he pulled a wet duvet cover from his skin. “I don’t wanna impose, but you got a shower I can use?”

“Mhm…” Castiel said. “And a spare set of dry sheets. And there are still cookies downstairs.” He stopped himself, as he suddenly realized he’d just assumed that Dean actually wanted to spend the night. What if he didn’t? What if all he wanted was sex?

He didn’t have to panic long, however, as he watched Dean’s face light up. “I forgot about the cookies!”

“You hop in the shower, and I’ll throw some in the oven. They should be ready as soon as you’re done.”

Castiel has never before seen a human quite so happy. “If I didn’t know any better,” Dean said, reaching up to thumb at Castiel’s lip. “I’d say you were trying to get me to stick around.”

“I just wanted you to feel better tonight, Dean.” Castiel kissed his thumb. “Do you?”

Dean had a look of amazement in his eyes before he spoke. “Where the hell did you come from, Cas?”

“I could ask you the same question.” Castiel leaned forward and pressed their lips together, sweet and chaste. “Just go clean up and meet me downstairs.”

Castiel woke up to the sound of Dean’s voice, which should have been pleasant and gentle. Sun streamed in from the open window, illuminating the normally cool colored space in bright yellows and whites. He blinked into the world with a stretch, noticing immediately how the space next to him was still warm, as if by sunlight.

“Sam - slow down,” Dean said, his voice rough with sleep. “Say that again.”

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to Castiel. In the bright light, his skin is peppered with freckles like stars on a moonless night, and Castiel wants to kiss across them to make constellations. He stopped himself though, because the tightness in Dean’s shoulders gives him pause.

Cas can’t make out what Sam is saying, but he can hear the rush of the tinny voice through the phone. Dean threaded a hand through his hair. “When?” he barked. Sam responded, then he replied, “I’m on my way.”

The phone was tossed to the bed as Dean got up with such ferocity, Castiel pulled back on instinct. “Dean?” he said, watching him, still naked, grab at his clothes.

Dean suddenly stopped, as if he just remembered that Castiel is there. “Sorry,” he said, pulling his underwear on. He stumbled over his own feet before securing them on his hips, then moving quickly on to his shirt. “I, uh, I have to go.”

“Is everything okay?” Castiel sat up. Something in Dean’s faraway expression is making his heart speed up, and not in the same way it did last night.

“No.”

But he didn’t elaborate. Castiel watched him for another moment. When he reached for his shoes, he finally said. “Dean - can I help?”

Dean stopped mid-shoe. He looked down at them, his expression far away. “No,” he said. “Jack is gone. Sam says when he went to check on him this morning, he wasn’t in bed.”

He doesn’t finish his sentence before Castiel is out of bed and dressing just as quickly. “Could he be at Alex’s? Did Sam try his cell phone?” he asked, pulling on a sweater.

Dean finished putting on his shoes and looked at Castiel with a raised eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting dressed.”

“I can see that - why?”

“Because I’m going to help you look for Jack, that’s why!” Castiel’s voice went a little shrill at the end, but he couldn’t help it. Something about the two of them - their night together, everything just falling into place, the way his heart swelled when he was inside Dean - they were connected now. “He’s your son and I care about him. And you.”

Dean gaped at Castiel for a moment before shaking himself and swallowing. There was something in his expression - gratefulness, for sure, and worry, but strength too - highlighted in too-bright green eyes. “I’ll drive.”


	9. Chapter 9

On the other side of town, Claire awoke to a phone call as well. Her waking was much the same as her uncles: a dim awareness of bright light, followed by the warmth of a sleepy body beside her own. The sound of the the Indiana Jones theme woke her with a start, and Kaia groaned under her breath.

“Sorry,” she whispered, wiping her face with the back of her knuckles. “It’s my uncle. I have a special ringtone.”

“Make it stooooopppp…..” Kaia whined, throwing a pillow over her head.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, cursing under her breath as the cold of the morning hit her bare legs as she threw the covers off. Her sneaky bedmate only wrapped herself more in them like a tiny, sinister burrito. Claire cursed the day her uncle made her promise to always answer when he called.

To be fair, he didn’t do it very often, and that was on purpose. In order for her to have the freedoms she has (including waking up in the same bed as her new girlfriend) they made an agreement that if humanly possible, she would answer the phone when he called. To his end, he only called her during emergencies, otherwise he’d send a text (which he always signed UC, for Uncle Cas, which was as much annoying as it was adorable).

“Morning Uncle Cas,” she said, making an attempt to get the sing-song out of her voice, but ending up sounding way too happy anyway. “How was your night?”

“Claire,” he said, his voice in a panic. “Is Jack with you?”

Her heart sped up. “No,” she said, sitting up. “Is everything okay?”

“He’s not at home,” Uncle Cas said, which, how the heck did he know that? “Dean and I are on our way to Alex’s. Can you check if he’s there?”

_ Dean and I? _ Did they spend the night together? Claire hardly has a second to consider before she’s up and pulling on her jeans. Normally she’d take a moment to poke fun at her uncle for finally getting laid (or celebrate the fact that her amazing plan worked like a charm) but something in the tone of his voice told her this was much more serious than all that.

“On it,” she mumbled, stumbling out the door. She ran into Jody right away in the hall, who gave her an eyebrow wiggle before reading her expression.

“Sweetie, what’s wrong?”

“Is Jack here?” Claire asked.

Jody shook her head. “No, I haven’t seen him. Why, what’s going on?”

“He’s not here,” she said into the phone. “Why? Is everything okay?”

“Claire, I want you to hand the phone to Jody right now,” Uncle Cas said. “When I’m done talking to her, I will explain everything.”

She’s only ever heard him take that sort of firm but gentle tone with her once before. Something in her stomach dropped as she did what he asked. She watched the expression on Jody’s face turn from warm to sullen, nodding along with whatever she was being told. Finally, the phone was handed back to Claire in a hurry. “There’s cereal and milk in the fridge, please eat something, okay? Tell Kaia and Alex I’ll be back.”

“Uncle Cas,” Claire said, watching Jody as she took off down the hall towards the garage. “Please tell me Jack’s okay.”

He doesn’t immediately respond. Instead, she can hear him discussing directions with another masculine voice - presumably Dean. Finally, he gets back on to address her. “Claire, I’m going to tell you something, but you have to promise me you won’t react or do something rash.”

“Okay….” she said, clenching her fingers into a twist. “What’s going on?”

“Jack wasn’t at his house when Sam woke up this morning,” he said. “We’re not sure where he is. Dean and I are out searching, and so is Bobby and Sam. I just had Jody alert the police so they can put out some patrol cars, but the most important thing to me is that you stay right there, right at Jody’s. Can you do that?”

Claire had stopped listening after the first sentence. Instead, all she could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat in her ears and the gears in her head spin. She’d heard from Jack last night, just before they went to bed. He had told her about Lucifer’s visit, and they’d brainstormed different plans of how to get rid of him - most of which involved filling the dude’s Mercedes with rotting fish or hiring a private investigator to dig up some dirt in his past so the court case would get thrown out. Running away from home was never an option.

Come to think of it, it was completely unlike Jack. Except….

Except when he was considering someone else's safety over his own.

“Claire!” Uncle Cas was quite stern now, his voice deep. “I need you to say you understand. Do not leave that house.”

“I understand,” she said, her voice far away. She blinked and focused, taking a breath and repeating herself with more conviction. “I’ll stay put.”

But she kept her fingers crossed as she hung up.

Kaia stepped out of the bedroom and into the hallway, looking the vision of a disheveled sleepy teenager. Her dark hair was tousled and huge, and her eyes blinked at her in the dim light. “What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain everything in a minute,” she said. “But first, do you still have your pendulum? The one you were using to ask questions?”

“Yeah, of course,” she said, reaching down into her sleep shirt. She pulled up her necklace and at the end of it, a smoothed out piece of raw amethyst. “Why?”

“I think we need to do some spell work,” Claire said, taking the jewel between her fingers. “Let’s wake up Alex.

If she hadn’t witnessed first hand the way the pendulum worked, she might have chalked it up to a bunch of parlor tricks. But when Kaia had first shown her a few months ago, it had answered every single one of her questions right without fail. It would be creepy if it wasn’t so damn cool.

Since then, they’d used it sparingly. She really just dabbled in witchcraft (Kaia was far more experienced than she) and even with as much of a cynic as she was, she had to admit that it was far more likely that something else existed (whatever you wanted to call it) than they were all alone in the universe. Still, she hadn’t wanted to press her luck.

But today, sitting around Jody’s cleared off kitchen table, with a single candle lit and the sage freshly smudged, she decided that now would be a good time to press it. The air was surprisingly thick and she gripped Kaia and Alex’s hands within her own. Her eyes closed and she focused on Jack’s face, trying to picture it in her mind. His goofy, happy smile. The way his eyes lit up when he talked about something interesting. The sloppy way his hair always fell in his eyes. His hands as he worked beside her, picking up trash. Pleasant images, which made her heart ache all the more.

“Okay,” Kaia said, and Claire opened her eyes. They were heavy, though no longer from sleep. Kaia had taken her necklace off and it dangled below her closed fist over a small bit of black cloth on the table. They had drawn the curtains in the kitchen, and the purple of the amethyst flashed in the candlelight. She took a deep breath and extended her hand.

“Yes or no questions only, remember.” She kept her focus on the gem. “Counter clockwise means yes, clockwise is no. Claire, ask the first question.”

“Is Jack in a place we go to often?” she asked, watching the crystal with wonder. Kaia repeated the question in a low tone directly at the stone. Seemingly on its own, it it began to spin to the left in a circle.

“No,” Kaia said.

“Well crap, that doesn’t narrow it down very much…” Claire murmured. “What about, is Jack in a place we’d expect him to be?”

“Yes,” she said with a raised brow, watching the stone switch directions.

“A place we expect him to be, but we don’t go to often….” she repeated, keeping her eyes on the stone.

“What about the DMV?” Alex piped up. She looked at the two girls with a hopeful expression as Claire rolled her eyes. “What? He needed to take his driver’s test!”

“Why the heck would he be there?” she scoffed. “It’s gotta be something else. Something more meaningful.”

“Is Jack safe where he is?” Kaia asked. Her lips turned to a soft smile as the stone spinned. “Well, at least there’s that.”

Claire watched the dangling gem for a while as it spun to a near standstill. Where could that goof have gotten on to? He wouldn’t have gone too far. He didn’t drive yet and didn’t have much money for an Uber. More than likely, he was still within a safe distance.

“Wait,” she said, resting her arm on Kaia’s free hand, pressed against the table. “Ask it if he’s looking for that damn chicken.”

Kaia repeated the question, and watched as the necklace began to spin to the right. “I knew it,” Claire said. “It seemed so weird that he would just up and leave, but he felt terrible about Regina. I bet he went after her.”

“That doesn’t exactly help us….” Alex murmured. “If we knew where that chicken was, we’d have retrieved it by now.”

Claire smiled. “Maybe not - but I think I know a good place to start….”


	10. Chapter 10

He had to find her.

He’d woken up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat and a single thought: Regina.

Truth be told, the chicken had plagued him since they’d lost it, but he’d at least given up on the thought of returning her to her rightful owner. Until he realized _he is the chicken._ Plucked from his mother at such a young age he couldn’t remember her. Raised by people not related by blood, but showered in love. Taken from home by sinister forces. Okay, maybe that last one isn’t exactly true for Jack. Yet.

Anyway, he threw off the covers and made a decision - she needed to be home with her rightful family.

Sneaking out of the house is easy enough. The moon was still bright and high in the sky at three in the morning, making the dead of night seem far more friendly than it should. He stuffed his hands in his pockets against the chill and pressed on.

He wasn’t really sure where he was going, and the longer he traveled, the worse he felt about leaving. He’d never run away from home before, and it’s not like he wasn’t intending on going back he just - he had to do something. Sitting and waiting for the next part of his life to happen only caused the ache inside of him to grow into something more gaping and wild.

A cool breeze lifted up his hair, and he clenched his fists tighter in his jeans. Idly, his thoughts drifted back to Lucifer’s hands, how they’d looked at once powerful and cunning at his sides. He didn’t have Lucifer’s hands, but he did have his cheekbones. He wondered if he shared anything else with this man he’d hardly met. And if, should he win custody of Jack, he’d find anything in common with the man that had come crashing into his life.

But then he thought of the way that Lucifer had looked at Claire, with disdain and disgust. And true enough, Dean hadn’t trusted her either after the “incident” - but he never disrespected her. He never looked at her as if she were less than human. Not the way Lucifer had curled his lip and dismissed her.

No, he somehow just knew. He didn’t have anything in common with his biological dad.

He thought about his life with Sam, Dean, and Bobby. It was good, solid, stable. More than that, they felt like a honest to goodness family. He felt safe, and loved and appreciated. He knew from watching Alex and Kaia that was a rare thing, especially for someone to just fall into.

But besides that, Sam and Dean are who his mother trusted more than anyone in the world with her only son. That has to count for something.

The road curled around to a familiar place - his high school. It looked almost haunted this time in the morning, the bright light from the parking lot casting shadows across buildings. But he wasn’t afraid. He took a deep breath of crisp air and wandered across the campus, taking in the sites of the school at rest. The last place they’d seen Regina, the courtyard, was of course empty. He climbed the steps to the center of the quad and sat down on the cold concrete.

Laying back, the blanket of stars spread out before him and it was too much to take in at once. He tried to find some familiar constellations, but this far inside the school grounds the light pollution was less, and he was able to see more stars than usual, making it hard to decipher. He reached a hand up and traced a pattern of a chicken in the stars.

The next thing he knew, there was a figure next to him. It should have been startling, but it wasn’t. She just sat down to his right and laid back to match his position. Her arm went underneath her head and she sighed, a peaceful, happy noise. “Beautiful, aren’t they Jack?”

“Yeah,” he said, his lips turning to a grin. “Stars always make me think of my mom.”

“She used to look at them and think of you too,” the woman said, and he could hear the smile in her unfamiliar voice. “You can see them way better from up there, you know,” she said, nodding up at the sky.

“I’ll bet.”

They were quiet for another moment. Above them a bird swooped low, flying across their eye line. Suddenly, it occurred to Jack that maybe this nice lady could help. “Hey, do you know where Regina is?”

The woman laughed joyously and gently. “You know, chickens are often said to have tiny brains, but they tend to have big hearts. They can remember their homes.”

“Is she dead?” Jack asked, suddenly worried what ‘home’ could mean.

“No sweetie,” she said. She reached her arm across her stomach and rested her hand on Jack’s sweater-covered forearm. She was such a comfort, his neck stretched towards her like a cat. “She just went home. To the people that love her. You should too, my wonderful boy.”

Jack woke up with a start to a sharp pain in his shin. “Ow!” he said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. Over him, the morning janitor stood with a scowl and a hand on his hip.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he said, nudging him again with his foot. “Go home kid.”

Jack blinked, trying to focus. Where had that woman gone? He whipped his head around, but she was nowhere to be seen. He opened his mouth to ask the janitor if he’d seen the strange woman take off, but it occurred to him with sudden clarity why she’d felt so comfortable and familiar - it had been the same presence that has visited him in his dreams sometimes. The presence he always thought was his mother.

However far fetched the concept was, it still brought him a measure of comfort. Maybe she was watching over him amongst the stars, gently guiding his path. It made him feel like he was exactly where he should be. He smiled, closing his eyes for a moment as he fought the tears that threatened to surface. When he opened them again, the janitor was still looking at him, this time as if he’d lost his mind. “I’ll go home,” Jack said. “But there’s something I have to do first.”

The trip to Righetti High was easy due to the modern day convenience of Uber and a cell phone. Even still, Jack was tense on the way over, gripping the hand rail.

The parking lot was empty - it was Saturday after all - and he was not quite sure where he was going. But something within him pushed him forward, past gates he’d only seen once before. His destination was the agriculture wing of the school. There was no one here either, not even a grumpy, tired janitor to look at him disapprovingly. But there was plenty of farmland, cows and pigs in stalls looking at him like he might have some tasty breakfast.

He made his way over to the chicken coop, hopeful as he rounded the corner that she would just magically be back inside. But the tiny red building was empty save for the other chicken that lives with Regina. She was significantly taller, a poof of white feathers and sharp talons, and skittish as Jack approached the gate. He didn’t blame her. Last time she saw him, he stole her friend. “Sorry,” he whispered, and kept moving.

He kept walking through the lot until he reached the outskirts. There was plenty of farmland surrounding the area, and a chain link fence separating the agriculture area from what was presumably someone’s farm. He was just in the right kind of mindset to take off and start exploring acre by acre. The only thing that stopped him was the momentary consideration whether or not he should turn around and grab a few vegetables out of the garden, should he need to coax Regina from a hiding spot.

It was the clucking that he heard first.

A crazy grin crossed his face. He sprinted towards the chain linked fense, grabbing it between his hands and pulling himself upward. It wasn’t particularly challenging to climb, but it wasn’t as if he’d ever done it before. Sharp wires pressed into his palms, and he dug his shoes into the small holes between. But then he was over and moving stealthily in the direction of the cluck.

He heard the familiar coo of a chicken and there, on the other side of the brush, was Regina. She was in a nest of her own making, a small hole in the ground where the long grass had been worn down under her sizeable rump. She’d clearly been there a while, and one glance back at the fence he’d just climbed told him why. No way a chicken could fly that high, even on her best day.

He didn’t startle her as he approached, slowly reaching out to gently grip her around her wings. In fact, she almost seemed like she’d been waiting for him. He tucked her under his arm and gave her a soft pet down her neck. She cooed again.

“You found your way home, Regina.” He smiled. “You just needed a little help to get the rest of the way there. Don’t worry, I’ll help.”

He was met in the parking lot by Claire. She, Kaia, and Alex had just arrived and were exiting the car as he was walking up to the front of the school to call another Uber. Somehow, he wasn’t all that surprised that she found him, but she didn’t say a word as she stepped from the car and into his arms. She grasped him tightly.

“Don’t you ever do that again.” she said, her voice thick. He nodded against her head - he certainly didn’t intend to -and felt another pang of guilt for making his friends worry. He hadn’t even considered that they might be upset too.

“By the way,” she said, pulling away with a sniffle and a grin. “Our plan worked. Uncle Cas and Dean are totally banging.”

Jack stifled a laugh as he squished his way into the backseat.

He didn’t knock on his own front door, but he felt like he probably should have. As it stood, the only person that was home was Bobby, and he was ten kinds of raving mad for all of about ten seconds before he was pulled into a gruff bear hug. Claire stayed by his side, and he was glad, especially after hearing Dean’s voice on the other end of the phone after Bobby called him. It wasn’t exactly a cheerful noise.

All three of them arrived at once - Dean and Cas in the Impala, and Sam dropped off by Jody’s police cruiser - and they rushed into the house. He was immediately engulfed in Dean’s arms, pressed against his shoulder. Behind him, he could hear Castiel scolding Claire - something about not staying where she was told to - but Dean interrupted him.

“Claire,” he called out, his voice choked with emotion. “You’re a damn good kid. Damn good. Thank you.”

Jack didn’t even fight it, he just let the tears come to his eyes when they arrived. They soaked into Dean’s flannel as he heard Castiel and Claire leave. Finally, Dean spoke, close to his ear.  “I’m going to kill you,” Dean said, a hitch to his voice. Jack suspected he was only mostly joking.

“Dean..” Sam warned from behind them, sounding like he needed another eight hours of sleep or a cup of coffee.

“No, I’m serious,” Dean grumbled, pulling back. He straightened his back and fixed Jack with a stern look. “What the hell were you thinking just taking off like that?!”

Jack wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Beside him, he heard some movement and then Bobby was there, handing him a tissue. He took it and shoved it under his nose. “I had to find her, Dean. She needed to be with her family,” he said. “I thought she might have tried to find her way home. To the people that loved her.”

Dean studied Jack for a moment. To his relief, his features begin to soften - maybe he’s actually going to understand why he had to go. “I get that you love that chicken kid,” he said. “But you can’t do that to us. We thought Lucifer had taken you.”

Holy shit. That possibility hadn’t occurred to Jack until just this moment, but the thought made his stomach churn. “Dean.” He felt his chest grow tight. “I didn’t think - I’m so sorry...”

“It’s okay,” Sam said, wrapping an arm around Jack. He settled into his side, leaning against his solid warmth. “We get it. We know what Regina meant to you. We were just worried.”

“And you aren’t going anywhere, okay?” Dean coughed, but couldn’t hide the emotion in his voice. “Lucifer isn’t going to take you anywhere, I promise. You belong here, with us. With your family.”

That wasn’t a promise that Dean could make - not really. Jack was mature enough to recognize the white lie as it passed his lips. But it was a comfort, knowing that his Dads were already planning on fighting for him.

He just wasn’t sure if they’d actually win.


	11. Chapter 11

_Two months later..._

Courtrooms always smelled like a mixture between badly cared for leather and dust. This one wasn’t any different. Dean leaned his forearms against the wooden desk, taking a deep breath and trying to pretend like the smell didn’t gag him out.

“Here,” came the gruff voice from behind him. He turned as fresh, hot coffee was thrust into his hands by a man with eyes so blue, he wanted to escape into them. “Breathe this in. It will help.”

“Thanks, Cas.” He forced a half smile and buried his face in the steam. It helped - marginally. His stomach gurgled. Probably wasn’t a great idea to do all of this on an empty stomach either, but then again, he hadn’t been able to keep any food down the last few days save for the peanut butter and jelly sandwiches Castiel had cut into small pieces and fed him every once in a while. Come to think of it, he must have kept them in a bag in his pocket or something.

What the hell would he have done without him these last few months?

Finding Jack was one thing, but the battle ahead of them made Sam and Dean more weary than the entirety of Jack’s Nickelback phase. Lucifer had not be kidding about fighting for Jack, and as it turned out, the state of California was falling all over themselves to make an example of a paternity case between three Dads. Go figure.

What started as a simple mediation quickly landed them here, in this honest to goodness courtroom, where for some reason, Dean was actually having to convince a judge that he was a better parent than this deadbeat asshole. While he (and Sam, and Bobby, and everyone else he knew) thought they had a pretty decent shot at winning this case, there was still that aching, creeping doubt that has taken up residence in his chest cavity for the better part of two months. Every dinner together, every movie night, every Saturday morning pancake, every time Jack smiled - Dean wondered if they were numbered. And how many were left.

To be frank, it had been hell. Except for Cas.

Everything with him came so much easier than he expected. Since their night together, they’d just sort of started to include the other one in each other’s lives until it was hard to remember what things were like, as Sam likes to put it, BC (before Cas). Castiel was like the calm in the middle of his storm. When it was so dark he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, Cas was there with a match. Even when they hadn’t spoken all day, or much in the last few days, he would just show up at Dean’s work with a cup of coffee. Or text him a (totally terrible) joke. Or just know, when they saw each other again, what he needed - rough sex, or a night of Great British Bake Off and cookies. Cas was excellent at both.

It wasn’t just everything Cas had done for him, though, that made these last few months so bearable. It was how they could relate to each other about their kids. Having a child thrust upon you, however wanted and loved, is still a heck of a thing to deal with. And it comes with all sorts of hang ups and feelings that he wouldn’t change for the world, but fuck, it was nice to have someone besides Sam to talk to about it. Turns out, despite their initial argument on how to raise their kids (a subject that’s more a joke now than anything else) their parenting styles are pretty compatible.

Scary compatible, in fact. Long term compatible. And when Dean is done dealing with this asshat Lucifer, he’s going to dedicate a few brain cells into unraveling that big ass ball of feels. But not right now. Right now, as the warm liquid soothed down his throat, and he met eyes with this strangely perfect man, that blew into his life and sort of saved it - he was ready to fight the devil himself.

Which was the perfect attitude to have as Lucifer walked in.

He wore a sports coat and jeans, like he was attending some sort of casual business meeting instead of trying to impress a judge into giving him a son he abandoned. Behind him slithered his lawyer, a black suited jackal who goes by the name Crowley. (Just the one name, by the way. Like he’s friggin Beyonce or something.) They take their seats at the other desk to Dean’s right. As Crowley takes out some paperwork (what the hell does he have?), Lucifer leans back in his chair, casual as ever.

“Good to see you again, Dean,” he said, chewing on something, his eyes mischievous. “May the best man win.”

“This isn’t a fucking game, Lucifer,” Dean growled, digging his fingers into the desk. Behind him, he felt the familiar weight of Castiel’s hand gripping his shoulder.

“Ignore him,” Cas said. “Don’t let him rile you up. This is too important.” Dean turned his focus again to Castiel, who was leaning all of his weight against the waist high wooden railing that seperated the seats from the main floor, just to touch Dean. He got up instead, walking over to Castiel, and took refuge in the man’s face. Cas smiled at him. “It’s almost done. You’re so close to getting him out of your hair.”

“Yeah, and hopefully he doesn’t take my kid with him….” Dean murmured, but shook himself out of it as soon as he saw the door in the back of the room open. He refused to show his fear to Jack. He knows the kid. He knows that if he sees Dean or Sam or Bobby or anyone worried, he’s going to feel like garbage. He’s already made mention so many times of how much of a burden he’s being, despite their insistence that he’s full of shit.

The first person through the door is Bobby, being pushed by Sam. Jack follows the both of them, and behind them their lawyer, Charlie, walks with her hand on his shoulder. She’d come recommended from Jody, but Dean was convinced Kelly herself had made some kind of deal upstairs to bring this woman into their lives. Not only was she so great with Jack (the perfect mixture of reassuring and realistic) but she was smart as a whip. Plus, she’d fallen so in love with their family over the last month or so, that she’d actually claimed in the event Lucifer _did_ win the case, that she would find “some way to fix it”. Dean wasn’t sure what that meant, exactly, but the gleam in her eyes told him he probably didn’t want to know. Either way, he had a good feeling she didn’t make that promise lightly.

“Hey Dean,” Charlie said, taking the seat beside him. Next to her, Sam took the third chair. “How you holding up?”

“Peachy,” he said through tight lips. He turned to watch as Jack and Bobby settled into the first row beside Castiel and Claire. “How long is this supposed to take again?”

Charlie placed her iPad on the desk, and swiped at the screen to get the time. “Well, I know this judge. And she doesn’t miss lunch so, no more than two hours until recess, at least?”

Dean nodded, turning back around. Two hours. He could keep himself in check for two hours. And then when that two hours was up, he could find someplace soundless to scream into.

When the judge finally came into the chambers, she wasn’t exactly what any of them were expecting. Small in stature, her black robe fell around her like it was just a hair too big. She had what looked like a permanently raised eyebrow, and a purse to her lips.

“Take your seats,” the bailiff said. “Case number 409488. Custody hearing of Jack Kline. Honorable Judge Masters, presiding.”

“Thank you, Jeremy,” Judge Masters said. “I’ll now hear opening statements.”

Crowley went first. Dean kept his fists clenched against his legs while he spoke and tried to keep himself calm. He was listening, but not really hearing, and maybe that was for the best. Mostly Crowley was talking about what an upstanding citizen Lucifer had become. Apparently, where he currently lived (somewhere on the east coast) he was considered something of a hero. There’d been a burning building and some old folks involved, and look, it was absolutely a good human move, but Dean saved people from burning buildings for a living for crying out loud. If that counts for points, then Dean should be way ahead of the curve.

Unfortunately, that’s not how any of this works. Crowley concludes his argument with this, driving Dean’s nails so deep into his leg, he knew later he’d bruise. “What I will demonstrate today, in addition to the outstanding character of my client, is that the departed Ms. Kline was not in the right mental state when she decided on the custody of her son. We’re really here today to ensure, Judge Masters, that Jack is allowed the opportunity to get to know his real father and correct a mistake that should have been addressed long ago.”

Charlie leaned into Dean’s shoulder. “Oh, he’s good,” she whispered, watching Crowley return to his seat beside Lucifer. Dean turned his head sharply, his eyes wide with fear. “Don’t worry, silly.” Her mouth parted to a sideways grin. “I’m better.”

Dean wasn’t sure if her confidence was contagious or made him nauseous. Maybe a little bit of both.

Charlie’s opening statement was much more passionate and convincing in Dean’s eyes. (Of course, he’s very likely biased.) She talked about how close their family is - how even the events of the last few months have made their bonds even stronger. In her hands, she carried Jack’s latest report card, a testament to how well he’d been doing in school. Finally, she did something that made Dean want to crawl in a hole - she talked about what great men he, Sam and Bobby are. Their accomplishments and what differences they make in the community. A blush creeped up his neck as she turned to smile at him. He knew it was necessary to convince the judge of their character, but he hated when people went on and on about the good he does as a firefighter. That aint why he does it, anyhow.

Crowley was next up, bringing a few “character” witnesses before the judge, all to attest to the sort of man Lucifer is. None of them seemed particularly genine, but then again, Dean’s always had a good read on people. One guy was actually named Dick, which should have thrown all sorts of red flags for the judge. But when Dean hastened a glance her way, her face remained inexpressive, as if she was just absorbing everything and storing it someplace to analyze later.

Lucifer got up last, and Dean fought to keep the contents of his stomach from emptying themselves onto the floor. What followed was the longest ten minutes of Dean’s life, having to listen to this idiot talk shit about Kelly and pretend like he was some sort of freaking victim.

“And finally, Lucifer, you’re aware of the disruption this would cause in young Mr. Kline’s life,” Crowley said, walking past the bench, where Lucifer stood before the court next to the judge. “Can you tell the court why they should still rule in your favor?”

Lucifer looked up and addressed the Judge Masters directly. “Because my son has been without a _real f_ ather for long enough,” he said. “He shouldn’t have to go another day without knowing the love that only a father can provide.”

Dean clenched his teeth to keep his mouth shut. Behind him, he heard Bobby grunt.

“No further questions,” Crowley said, his lips turning into a smirk as Lucifer stepped off the bench.

To her credit, Charlie had lined up about a half dozen character witnesses on their side, all of which performed spectacularly. They had decided that of the two of them, Sam should be the one to get up and speak, since Dean thought there was a good chance he would just start screaming directly at Lucifer’s stupid face and well, everyone sorta just agreed that wasn’t a great call. What he wasn’t expecting, was when Charlie called Castiel to the bench.

“Charlie - what the hell?” he whispered as she came back to the desk to grab some notes. Across the room, Castiel made his way to the front of the courtroom, his shoulders stiff. “We didn’t talk about this!”

“He called me last night and insisted,” she said, finally grabbing what looked to be handwritten notes on yellow legal paper. The rest of her notes for every other witness had been on her iPad. “I thought it was a good idea - sorry not sorry!”

Dean sat back, the butterflies rushing back to his stomach. It wasn’t as if he didn’t trust Castiel or what he might say, he just didn’t want him to have to be any part of this. He’d done so much for Dean in these last few months, and he knew the kind of anxiety even being in this courtroom was doing to the both of them. Cas didn’t need to put himself through this. They met eyes from across the courtroom and Dean gestured with his head, as if to say, “Get out of here while you can!” Castiel furrowed his brow and shook his head, then turned his focus entirely to Charlie.

She asked him a few preliminary questions - the nature of his relationship with Jack, and with the rest of his family. Then she really just let him talk for a while.

“I came to know the Winchesters through my niece, Claire,” he nodded towards the back of courtroom, and Dean followed his line of sight. Claire and Jack were huddled together beside Bobby, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, as if she could shield him from all this if she held him close enough. “They became friends because they have one big thing in common - they both lost parents. I met Dean during a parent teacher conference about our kids and we nearly got into an altercation in the parking lot!”

“Obviously, you two are quite close now,” Charlie prompted, failing to keep a smile from crossing her lips.

“What I learned about Dean that day, and what I’ve come to admire about him, is how much he cares for his family,” Castiel said, turning his attention from Charlie, and instead locking eyes with Dean. “He was passionate that day that his son, Jack, was in the right because Dean cares so deeply for him, his gut reaction is to defend him with every fiber of his being. I was angry until I recognized how much we were alike - and then it just made me fall in love with him.”

Dean’s heart jumped into his throat. _Love?_ He’d been so close to letting that damn four letter word slip out the last two months, but just couldn’t seem to spit it out. But here Castiel was, beautiful in the sunlight of a dusty courtroom, his blue eyes shining and his lips pulled into the tiniest of smiles, admitting everything like it was easy and pure. God, did he love him.

“No more questions,” Charlie said, turning on her heel and winking at Dean. He gaped as he watched Castiel leave the stand and return to the spot just behind him.

“When today is done, we’re gonna have words,” Dean whispered, turning his head slightly. Castiel’s smile broadened, but he hid it with a cough as Judge Masters started speaking.

“Well, I’ve certainly learned a lot today about each of you,” she said, pulling her glasses off her face. Her blue eyes seemed bigger without them, and she leaned forward. “The one person I didn’t hear from today was Jack himself. Jack, be a dear and come up here to join me.”

Dean turned as Jack perked up in his seat. Claire’s arms fell away, and he cleared his throat. “Me?”

“Get up there, boy!” Bobby whispered, pushing at Jack until he was on his feet, and then crossing the room to the bench. Dean didn’t breathe as he sat down - they hadn’t talked about this either. Charlie had specifically said it was a rare circumstance when the Judge actually wanted to talk to the kid in question, but she also mentioned that she mostly practices law for children far younger than Jack and then it hadn’t gotten brought up again. Dammit, Jack looked terrified on the stand, and Dean just wanted to run to the front of the room and throw the kid over his shoulder, hop in the Impala, drive to Mexico, and figure the rest out later.

Instead, he sat on his hands as Judge Masters turned to Jack, a single eyebrow raised. “Tell me, Jack - what is your life like, living with Sam and Dean? Do you ever get in trouble?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “But…”

“Have you been grounded recently?”

Jack shifted, uncomfortable. “Well, sure - but…”

“You have a curfew? They make you do chores, help out around the house?”

“Yes…?”

Judge Masters narrowed her eyes at Jack. “And do you ever talk back to them? Give them sass? Break their rules?”

Jack looked absolutely terrified. From twenty feet away, Dean could see him swallow a lump in his throat before he nodded at the Judge. She hummed in response, as if he confirmed something terrible she suspected. Dean’s stomach flopped - this wasn’t going well, not at all. He’s about to lose his son right here, right now, and it was all he could do to keep from flipping the table in front of him.

“Jack,” she said, casual as ever. “Do you feel loved by Sam and Dean?”

He didn’t hesitate for a second. “Yes,” he answered, his voice cracking on emotion.

“I think I’ve got a good picture of what’s going on here,” she said, looking down at Jack. “It sounds like you’ve got a pretty sweet setup with the Winchesters, and I don’t see any reason to change that.” A smile crossed her face, genuine and kind. “I’m not going to take you away from the only home you’ve ever known, Jack. Don’t worry.”

Dean’s heart leapt into his throat. He could scarcely believe what he was hearing.

Jack took a deep breath, and a smile crossed his face. “Thank you!”

She smirked at him, and then turned to Lucifer. “It its my judgement that Jack remain with Sam and Dean Winchester until he reaches adulthood. At this time, I’m not granting any visitation rights to Lucifer. Case dismissed.”

From out of the corner of his eye, Dean saw Lucifer throw up his hands with disgust. He didn’t pay too much attention, however, as he was too busy crossing the room to wrap Jack into a bear hug. He took a deep breath of his hair, thanking whatever deities were listening for the son he hadn’t planned for and the life he’d never expected.

It was late when Dean finally crawled into bed. Castiel was already there, having gone to bed a few hours before, but the adrenaline in Dean’s veins had taken longer to dissipate. What finally had calmed him down was standing outside of Jack’s door (which was cracked open to allow the cat to enter and exit in the night as she pleased) just to listen to him softly snore. Nougat had come to join Dean at one point, winding herself between his legs and purring.

“I’m glad too, Nougs,” he said, reaching down to scratch her ears. “Damn glad.”

At any rate, when he finally did crawl into bed, he did so painstakingly slowly as to not wake Castiel. It didn’t seem to matter, as he rolled towards him and stretched. His eyes blinked open and squinted at Dean in the moonlight. “It’s late.”

“Wasn’t tired,” Dean said, fluffing the pillow underneath his head. “Go back to sleep.”

“Why didn’t you just ask for the usual?”

Dean huffed. “I had it handled.”

The usual, of course, is Castiel being the big spoon to his little. Running his fingers gently across Dean’s body - applying just enough pressure not to tickle, just to caress - kissing along the nape of his neck until he falls asleep doing it, and then just huffing hot breaths there as he slept. Dean would never admit out loud how much he craved that feeling of being smothered, of his senses being so full of Castiel he couldn’t feel anything else.

Castiel waited the space of a breath before rolling onto his side. “Well, what if I needed it?”

Dean smirked, rolling on his side away from Castiel, and then scooting back so his back was flush with Castiel’s front. Immediately, strong arms snaked around his waist and drew him impossibly closer. Against his neck, Castiel sighed gently.

“You know, we didn’t talk about what you said today,” Dean said, running his fingers across Castiel’s hand stretched across his belly.

“You can be mad at me in the morning,” Castiel grumbled. “But I am sorry to have surprised you. I know how much you hate that.”

“Well yeah, we’re gonna have words about that later, but that’s not what I was talking about,” Dean said, taking Castiel’s hand in his own. He interlocked their fingers. “You said something interesting during your little speech.”

Dean could feel Castiel tense up behind him, but he didn’t pull away. “We don’t have to talk about that now,” he said, his voice a bit more awake, and a lot more cautious. “Let’s just get some rest.”

“Did you mean it?”

Castiel sighed. “Yes, of course I did. But we’ve only been seeing each other for a few months, and I know our lives are very complicated, and there’s no rush-”

“Shhhhhh,” Dean rolled over in his embrace. His hand came up to rest against Castiel’s plush lips. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk too much?”

“Literally no one has ever told me that,” Castiel whispered behind Dean’s hand. Dean laughed as he pulled it away, moving it instead to cup his cheek. He felt stubble under his fingers as he ran his thumb along his lips.

“I will never be able to thank you for what you did today. What you’ve been doing, these last few months,” he said. And then quickly, before his nerves got the better of him, he whispered. “I love you, too.”

It was near pitch black in Dean’s room, but Castiel’s smile was blinding as the moonlight reflected off his teeth. He looked like he might say something sappy really soon, so rather than put them both through that, Dean leaned forward and kissed him. Sweet, light, and soulful, he could feel Castiel hum with contentment into his mouth.

It could have turned into something more, but there was an ache in his bones he was sure was in Castiel’s too, and they slowed down by increments to pecks and then to simply breathing against the other’s skin. The blankets cocooned them as sleep pulled them in, and they both went willingly, holding each other with the promise of countless tomorrows together just like this fresh on their minds.


	12. Chapter 12

_Epilogue_

“God dammit, Winchester, you are not going to cry.”

Castiel paused his steps just before he reached the bathroom door. He waited for a moment to make sure Dean wasn’t going to say anything else, but all he could hear was a deep sigh, and the water turning on. A couple splashes, then it was turned off. Castiel heard Dean’s shoes squeak against the tile floor, and then the turn of the handle.

“Cas - hey,” Dean said, surprised. He was dressed in a dark grey button up, and he’d tucked it into Castiel’s favorite pair of black jeans. The skin at the edge of his hairline was wet. “I didn’t hear you come back in.”

“Dean, we talked about this,” Castiel started, but Dean held up a single finger to stop him.

“Nothing happened. You didn’t hear anything.”

Castiel sighed. “UCLA is only about a two hour drive from San Diego. They won’t be far.”

“It’s at least three hours, depending on traffic, and _you didn’t hear anything!”_

There’s no sense in arguing with Dean. He has been moody ever since Claire and Jack got accepted to UCLA over the winter break. You’d think he would be more proud than anything else, and he is, but he’s also a tad bit weepy with premature empty nest syndrome.

It’s been two years since Castiel and Dean started their relationship, and he’s learned so much about what makes him so unique. He likes his waffles on the crispy side. He has very strong (and loud) feelings about Star Wars. Although he hasn’t had much chance to use a gun in his life, he’s naturally an excellent shot. The best way to calm him down is to feed him. But paramount to all other things about Dean, Castiel has learned this: he’s first and foremost a family man.

So when it came time for their children to move out for college, all of the adults involved were fairly somber about it, but Dean was beside himself.

Not that he’d let on. It was mostly moments like this, where Castiel had caught him trying to prescribe himself a chill pill and it wasn’t working. It made Cas ache for him, wanting to help release some of that sadness, but the reality was, there wasn’t anything he was going to be able to do except distract him. It’s not as if he’d even want to change how Dean is - he fell in love with his big, exposed heart.

“No, I didn’t,” Cas replied, choosing instead to step forward and gather Dean into his arms. He went with a sigh, leaning into the crook of Castiel’s neck. Castiel rubbed his back and kissed his temple, little touches to relax him. Outside, the sun was setting and casting yellows and oranges across the Los Angeles sky. The hotel room they were in was nice enough, with a small balcony, soft bed, and thick walls. Castiel will make Dean forget for a while later tonight. For now, they had a dinner to catch.

Castiel’s thighs ached as he pulled himself out of the Uber and onto the street. He cursed his lack of foresight for neglecting to bring any kind of pain medication on this trip, which was extra stupid, given that they were moving Jack and Claire (and Kaia) into the dorms. The two story dorms. What idiot architect designs two story dorms?

Dean must have heard Cas groan, because he snickered. “You alright over there, old man?”

Castiel squinted and opened his mouth ready with a smart reply, when he heard Claire’s voice. “Uncle Cas!”

It had only been a few hours since he saw her, but she was like a breath of fresh air and a grin overtook his face. Okay, alright, Dean wasn’t the only one who was going to have trouble with the empty nest. Shut up.

Jack and Kaia are right behind her, and they all crowd into this little farm to table spot on Wilshire. It’s busy because it’s clearly full of other parents treating their new college student children to the last free meal they’ll get for a while. The walls are wood and the bar is wood, and the table and chairs they sit at are wood, and even the little bowl full of peanuts in the center is wood.

“I think someone liked wood,” Castiel remarked, looking around. Beside him, Claire elbowed him in the ribs.

Dean smirked. “I know I-”

“Lalalalalalalala no no no - I’m going to need therapy if you continue that sentence!” Claire’s hands went directly to her ears and she started to hum. She stayed that way for a moment before determining it was safe and tentatively taking them off. “Turn off architect brain for an hour while we eat, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Besides, I have to tell you about my roommate!”

The four of them listen to Claire talk about her new roommate - an Armenian woman who apparently shares her love of eighties movies and leather jackets - while they order their food. Claire and Kaia had decided not to live in the same dorm, which Castiel had sighed with relief over. The last thing he wanted was for anything to go wrong between them and then they were stuck living together. Not that he thought this wouldn’t last. It was obvious they had staying power, even as young as they were.

Castiel looked up and caught Dean looking at him from across the table, causing his stomach to do a flip. Dean noticed, smiled and winked. How the fuck does he manage to still make Castiel weak in the knees?

The food arrived and they indulged in it. Thank goodness it was actually as tasty as the prices would lead you to believe it was. In any event, the conversation between the teenagers winded down after a while, and Dean decided to take the opportunity to speak.

(Cas had a feeling he was going to want to say something at dinner - he does tend to have little speeches about family that end in him looking both proud and constipated because he’s trying not to cry. It’s fucking adorable.)

“Alright, I’m gonna make this brief,” Dean said. He takes a swig of water and clears his throat. “Jack, you know that I don’t talk about your mom much. Even after all these years,” he took a deep breath. “Ah well, I guess it doesn’t feel like all that long ago she and I were raising a little hell of our own at St John’s. Anyway, what I want to say to you, kid, is that I’m sorry.”

Meeting his eye, Jack frowned. “Dad - what do you have to be sorry for?”

“I should be apologizing to Claire, too,” Dean said, giving her a half smile. “Jack, when you first met Claire, the way you two were with each other, it reminded me so much of me and your mom. She and I used to get into all sorts of trouble, but hell, there’s no one I’m not blood related to I could have depended on as much as her.”

Jack’s eyes were misty, and he pulled his lips into a tight smile. “I miss her.”

“Me too kid - me too.” Dean pulled Jack into his arms, and they embraced. Castiel could only look on, his heart in his throat, watching the two of them share a powerful moment. Beside him, Claire rested her forehead against his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her. He closed his eyes, feeling them sting a little too, willing himself to hold it together until later tonight, when he and Dean could find some mutual solace.

“She would be so proud of you,” Dean whispered and Jack nodded against his shoulder, taking a shaky breath. They pulled apart, and Dean laughed a bit as he wiped at his eyes. “Okay, enough of that. We better order dessert before they start staring.”

But Castiel didn’t care who was watching them. He was quiet as he savored every moment of the rest of their dinner, soaking up the laughter and the tears in equal parts. The sound of Claire’s laughter, the way that Dean tangled their feet together under the table. Everything was changing, and Castiel was watching it happen like a beautiful avalanche - inevitable, terrifying, but also hypnotizing.

Back at the hotel, Dean was quiet and restless. He packed his suitcase, then unpacked it. Took off his shoes, changed his socks, put the shoes back on. Castiel watched him with a sort of wonder, contemplating exactly how he was going to “relieve some of Dean’s stress” possibly two or three times that night. Once he actually sat down.

Dean’s phone rang, and he jumped from where he was sitting on the bed. “It’s Jack,” he said to Castiel, a smile lighting up his face. “Hey kiddo what’s - hang on, slow down. In your dorm?”

Castiel’s heart leapt into his throat. He knew that tone of voice - something is wrong with the kids. He grabbed his keys and ran to the door, Dean hot on his heels as he kept talking to Jack. “Okay, just stay put, and we’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“What’s wrong?” Cas said, pushing the elevator button twenty times.

“Babe, calm down,” Dean said, sliding his arm around his waist. He was tense but trying to settle Castiel. “There was just a small fire. The kids are okay, but they wanted us to come help.”

Castiel was antsy, and Dean wasn’t getting any more descriptive on the actual issue as they drove over. He supposed Jack hadn’t really divulged much, as he tends to sort of get really vague on details when he’s in crisis mode. Almost exactly like Dean, actually.

They reached the dorms, but there wasn’t an emergency vehicle in sight. Strange, though not unheard of. Castiel’s first thought was that maybe they had some sort of on campus emergency services that were already in the building, but that didn’t make much sense either. Dean didn’t seem phased though, just fast, as he quickly parked the Impala and rushed toward Jack’s dorm building.

The inside was just as they left it. The walls were shades of dull browns and covered in dozens of freshly xeroxed flyers advertising everything from clubs, to tutoring, to one “used beanbag” for sale. (Jack had to be told that it wasn’t the bargain he thought it was.) They didn’t wait for the elevator, as it was still crowded with students bringing in their fresh purchases from Target, and they made their way over to the stairs. They took two at a time and Castiel was so concerned about their kids, he didn’t even glance at Dean’s ass as they climbed.

They reached Jack’s dorm room in record time and didn’t even knock before bursting in. Castiel prepared himself for scorch marks and first degree burns, but that wasn’t what he was met with.

The dorm room living room was dark, save for dozens of electric candles flickering as if they were real, scattered on hand-me-down furniture. In the center of the room, an electric fireplace had been placed, and it too was “lit” and flickering, giving the room a dull orange glow. On either side of the black metal structure was Claire and Jack, with matching Cheshire grins.

“Claire! Jack!” Castiel breathed a sigh of relief and placed his hand over his heart. He couldn’t help walking forward towards them and taking Claire into his arms. “Why did you do that?! We were so worried!”

“Sorry….” Claire mumbled. “But we had something to tell you.” Castiel’s heart sped up as he pulled away from her, meeting her eye, and she grimaced. “Should have told you a while ago but, well….”

“We were embarrassed,” Jack perked up.

“You have to know, we had the best intentions,” Claire said, pulling away further and standing back with Jack. She wrapped an arm around his waist. “You see, you and Dean were being unreasonable about Jack and I when we pulled that prank with Regina, so we had to, well…”

“We Parent Trapped you!” Jack said, looking proud. Castiel might have been impressed, if he knew what the hell that meant. His confusion must have shown on his face, because Jack was quick to clarify. “We had Claire set your house on fire so you two would get along!”

“What?” Castiel’s head was spinning.

Claire rolled her eyes. “Not exactly. I didn’t set the house on fire - just made the smoke alarm go off. So that Dean would come to the house, and you two would have to talk.” She smiled and put her hands together. “But now look at you two! You’re together and we all get along and everything is happy! So it all worked out!”

He didn’t even know where to begin. His emotions were all over the place - relief that the kids were safe, mad that they played _this_ stupid prank, and even more mad about _the first_ prank they pulled. He clutched his hands together and bit his lip, sighing sharply before he heard a soft call from behind him.

“Cas…”

Castiel looked at Jack and Claire for a brief moment before he turned, and their grins were as big as he’d ever seen them. Over his shoulder, Dean was missing, but then he found him on the ground. On one knee.

“The kids told me a few months ago about their little prank,” he said. Though the light was artificial, it still made Dean’s eyes light up. “I was mad, but then I thought - hey, I’m going to propose anyway. Might as well have them help me pull one last prank.”

“You’re dreaming if you think that will be our last prank,” Claire murmured from behind him.

Dean looked up at her and scowled. “Pipe down, princess.” He looked again at Castiel, who was having trouble breathing, let alone understanding everything that was happening. Dean took a deep breath, and then started again. “I know this is really a formality at this point, Cas. You and I both decided a long time ago this was it, and we would make the paperwork happen later. But you,” he reached up and grabbed Castiel’s trembling hand. “You deserve a moment like this, and I wanted these brat kids of ours to see how their prank paid off.”

“I’ll never badmouth their pranks again,” Castiel whispered, his heart in his throat. Behind him, the kids snickered, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off of the man in front of him, who pulled a simple silver ring from his pocket and held it up. It reflected the light from the fake fireplace, giving it the illusion it was forged in fire - just like their relationship.

“Will you marry me, Cas?” Dean asked.

Castiel didn’t so much answer _yes_ as he nodded and sobbed, dropping to his knees and gathering Dean into his arms. It was only a moment before Claire and Jack joined them on either side, and the four of them squeezed and squeezed until they regretted every bit of the dessert they’d had. Then they all broke apart and laughed together, sitting on the low pile carpet of the dorm room floor. Castiel marveled at the small, wonderful family life had thrown at him and sent silent thanks for the way that fate had tangled their lives together. This life had never gone as planned, but he wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Scratch that - I hope you enjoyed it way more than that because writing is horrible, why do we do this to ourselves, help. 
> 
> Comments are the lifeblood of fanfic writers - please leave one!

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed my soul and are appreciated :)


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